


Unit

by nanuk_dain



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Time, Humor, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, OIF, POV Brad, POV Chaffin, POV Kocher, POV Mike, POV Multiple, POV Nate, POV Poke, POV Ray, POV Reporter, POV Rudy, POV Tim, POV Walt, Ray's dirty mind, Ray's dirty mouth, Slow Burn, bantering & bickering, combat cuddling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 92,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27858569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanuk_dain/pseuds/nanuk_dain
Summary: When Brad learns ahead of their deployment to Iraq that Tim Bryan will be acting as Bravo Two's corpsman, he's very glad that they're getting the best of the best, because he has served with Doc Bryan before and knows what to expect.That feeling of relief morphs into stone-cold dread when he's told that the Doc is assigned to One Alpha's Humvee. Doc Bryan and Ray Person in the same victor for weeks on end while everybody is suffering from sleep deprivation and Ray is high on Ripped Fuel certainly doesn't sound like the best idea.Or: Imagine how things might have gone if Doc Bryan was part of One Alpha's Humvee team.Note:This fic is currently at120.000 words.
Relationships: Brad Colbert & Ray Person, Bravo Two, Pappy Patrick/Rudy Reyes, Timothy Bryan & Eric Kocher, Timothy Bryan & Nate Fick, Timothy Bryan/Ray Person, Walt Hasser & Ray Person
Comments: 226
Kudos: 33





	1. Brad POV

**Author's Note:**

  * For [military_bluebells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/military_bluebells/gifts).



> So, the idea for this fic came to me in the shower (as those things often do XD) about six days ago and ever since I've written 23.000 words for it while also working (yes, I slept very little). Basically this fic consists of many little moments from multiple POV that I will post as individual chapters. I will stay fairly close to canon with just the _little_ change that Doc is part of One Alpha - and all the differences that makes.
> 
> I want to dedicate this fic to **military_bluebells** because we've talked about so much stuff that influenced this fic. I love our chats and I really hope you enjoy this fic, hon! ^_^
> 
> Disclaimer: All of this is just my imagination going crazy. I write about the characters of the mini-series and I mean no disrespect to the real men. Some scenes and sentences are taken directly from the series or the books (Generation Kill, One Bullet Away), those are not mine!

  


It's in December that Brad learns about who will be the corpsman serving with Bravo Two for their scheduled deployment to Kuwait with the invasion of Iraq as the potential endgame. It's Lieutenant Fick who informs him that Second Platoon has been assigned Hospital Corpsman Second Class Timothy Bryan, and Brad is more than relieved to hear that. 

When the LT sees his positive reaction, he enquires if Brad knows their future corpsman, and Brad explains that Tim was on his team during a tour in Afghanistan. He doesn't hesitate to tell Fick that they've lucked out with Doc Bryan. As a SARC he's not only one of the most highly trained field medics the US military has to offer, but he's also dedicated, competent, disciplined and very calm under pressure. Brad mentions that he's on top of that very much capable to kick the men in the ass when they need it and that he's a crack shot and a genuine warrior - he's among the best corpsmen Brad has served with, a real asset far beyond his medical expertise. The LT is obviously very glad to hear that.

Doc Bryan joins the platoon on the third of January, a month before they'll fly out, so that he can get acquainted with the men and establish his place in the platoon by training and living with them. Brad is not at all surprised that Tim fits in effortlessly and has no issues whatsoever to keep up with the Recon Marines he's assigned to. Brad is well aware that SARCs are generally far more highly trained than most of the men they serve with and that in addition to being medical professionals they are required to be able to do everything a Recon Marine can do. And Brad knows for a fact that that's true in Tim's case after commanding him in Afghanistan. Brad's high opinion of him is based on substantial experience, after all. 

On top of that, the fact that Doc Bryan served with several of the men on earlier tours helps to establish his standing in the platoon and even beyond. Brad knows that he's close friends with Eric Kocher from Third Platoon ever since they both served on Brad's team in Afghanistan together with Pappy. But Tim also knows Rudy and Lovell, and Redman, who's also in Third Platoon, all of whom have been on deployments with him and have long ago learned to cherish their dedicated badass warrior healer, as Rudy always calls him. That means that Tim doesn't have to prove himself all over again like an entirely unfamiliar corpsman would have to. He's not only a clear alpha, but also a bit of a legend, and those men who served with him before obviously respect him, which immediately impacts on how the men who don't know him treat him. 

Not that Doc Bryan needs anybody to stand up for him, he's perfectly capable of doing that himself. Brad is absolutely certain that Tim on purpose puts the fear of god in some of the newer additions to the platoon, not only with his sharp tongue, his well-aimed cutting remarks and his generally rather caustic attitude, but also with his excellent Recon skills. He puts his Ka-Bar to several well-chosen throats and distributes more nicks to ribcages than strictly necessary, and as far as Brad knows nobody got the drop on him except for Rudy - and nobody will look down on you if it's _Rudy_ who got you. Brad is well aware that Tim does all of that to firmly establish his position as one of the top dogs in the platoon because in order to properly do his job he needs the men's respect and their unquestioning obedience in case of a medical emergency. He needs them to immediately jump into action and do exactly what he says when there's a man down, or lives will be lost - and Tim certainly knows that the men's genuine respect is the most effective way to guarantee that.

Brad just watches and enjoys the show, because there's something oddly satisfying about having somebody establish their authority through their competence in such a quiet but efficient manner. Overall Brad is just relieved to know that at least their medical specialist is efficient, competent and knows what he's doing, contrary to the impression most of their officers make, except for Fick. Well, small mercies and all that.

Brad's relief lasts exactly up to the moment when he's informed about who the members of his team are going to be. He's supposed serve as the Team Leader of the lead vehicle, which pleases Brad to no end, but he makes sure not to show his glee while he's listening to Fick giving him the rundown of his unit because that would _not_ be professional. That doesn't mean that he doesn't feel it, though. If he has to roll through the fucking desert in a tin-plated piece of crap Humvee, he at least wants to be in the lead and not stuck at the end of a fucking convoy of seventy victors. He's still highly doubtful of that setup - they're First Recon, not LAR. He would have thought the higher-ups know the difference.

"Team One will consist of Ray Person as the driver and the RTO, and Gabriel Garza as the main gunner." Fick tells him, businesslike and to the point. "Doc Bryan will cover the rear left sector, and you'll have Harold Trombley for the rear right sector." 

"Yes, sir." Brad replies evenly, but the only thing he can think about is that this isn't good. Not good _at all_. 

Brad has served with Ray and Tim separately before, and he may not necessarily tell them to their face, but he thinks them both highly intelligent and among the most competent men he knows, but their personalities certainly _do not_ go well together. They're like cats and dogs, like fire and water. Or maybe like oil and water - they don't mix, and they certainly don't mix well, especially if they're forced into incredibly close proximity in an enduring high-stress situation without the option of getting out of each other's hair. So far there haven't been any issues because Ray and Tim simply don't spend much time together, and even if they're paired off in training, that time is always limited. Not to mention that Ray's nowhere close to consuming the amount of stimulants he's going to down once they step off.

They're both professionals, Brad knows that they don't need to like each other in order to be able to work together seamlessly, they've proven that already. But Brad can see the catastrophe looming on the horizon at the prospect of Ray and Doc being stuck in the tight confines of a Humvee together, especially when they're all suffering from lack of sleep and Ray compensates for it by ingesting more Ripped Fuel than any human being ever should. He won't shut up and he'll come up with the craziest shit you can imagine, Brad knows that from personal experience. He'll drive Doc up the walls, and Tim's neither very tolerant of bullshit nor is he in any way shy to react to it accordingly. 

Fuck, they're going to turn the Humvee into their personal verbal battlefield, and they'll fight with no holds barred. They'll kill each other long before they reach Baghdad. Doc's bullshit tolerance won't stand a chance against Ray's astonishing ability and endurance in producing bullshit once he's high on stimulants. That leads to the next point of conflict: Tim can't possibly condone the use of a banned substance like Ripped Fuel in his role as the corpsman, and there's no way he _won't_ witness it when he's sitting in the same Humvee as Ray. Yeah, Brad's life during this tour just got a whole lot more complicated.

When they're boarding the plane to Kuwait at the beginning of February, Brad still has no idea what to do about the situation. The only thing he has come up with so far is that he tried to get them used to each other ever since he learned that they're on the same team and therefore are required to train together in close contact. He hopes to build on Doc's tolerance for Ray's incessant talking and on Ray's ability to tone down his motor mouth. 

It sounds like a very feeble plan even to Brad's own ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are nice and comments are highly valued tokens of appreciation! Please let this wee comment-loving writer know what you think, you'll be my hero ^_^


	2. Ray POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Ray-time! In some of the later chapters I had so so much fun writing his Ripped-Fuel-high thought process... XD Also, I'm hoping to become an EMT and some of my study content may have found its way into this chapter... XD Who says you can't combine work, passion and your hobby ;D

  


"Person. What do you do when you come across an injured Marine?" Doc Bryan's voice suddenly cuts into Ray's focus on his not very tasty dinner. Chow at Mathilda is seriously not particularly pleasant, but a guy's got to eat.

"Check first for profuse bleeding, if there's none, adhere to the ABCDE approach - airways, breathing, circulation, disability, environment. Treat first what kills first." Ray replies without having to think about the answer because it's not the first time he's giving it. Not by _far_.

Ray doesn't bother hiding the pointed roll of his eyes, though, because this has long since stopped being 'mildly annoying' and morphed into 'firmly irritating'. The Doc has taken to quizzing the men of Bravo Two at all random times about the elements of basic trauma care that he's been drilling the platoon in ever since he joined them. He has this nasty habit of popping up at impossible times with medical questions, and if a man can't answer or doesn't do it correctly, Doc incorporates all the men surrounding him in reciting the correct answer and then makes him repeat it like a dumb, disobedient little kid, which is embarrassing and _very_ unpleasant. Ray has to grudgingly admit that Doc certainly knows how to utilise peer pressure as well as their innate competitiveness to make sure that every man is highly motivated to know this shit by heart. 

"Correct." Doc confirms and then turns to Chaffin, who's sitting next to Ray. "Chaffin, Person here has been cut by a piece of shrapnel and is bleeding strongly from the thigh. What is your immediate reaction?"

"Time how long it takes until he passes out." Chaffin replies with a shit eating grin. "Tiny midget that he is, it won't be long."

"You do that and I will personally plant a piece of shrapnel in _your_ thigh and give him the opportunity to return the favour." Doc remarks in a very dry voice and gives Chaffin a hard look.

"We should make it a contest." Ray offers with a grin even if he's not quite sure that the Doc _wouldn't_ do it, too. He's scary like that.

One glance at Chaffin tells Ray that he's not sure either, and everybody knows better than to get on the bad side of a corpsman, so Chaffin quickly back-paddles by giving the correct answer. "Check if the shrapnel is still in the wound, if not, apply a pressure bandage with the QuickClot gauze underneath. In case of the shrapnel still sticking in the wound or the bleeding not stopping, apply the tourniquet, placed upwards from the wound to cut off the blood flow and ensure that he doesn't bleed out."

"Nice to know that there is a brain in that thick skull of yours after all, Corporal." Doc comments in a rather sarcastic voice before he looks at Walt. "Hasser, name the content of your blowout kit."

"Battle dressings, pressure dressings, gauze, QuikClot, saline IV bag." Walt replies immediately like the good student he is. In his dedicated 'Basic Trauma Care Session' Doc has repeatedly forced them to practise using the content of the blowout kits he put together for every single man of the platoon. Oh, and he repeatedly made them mock-apply the tourniquet he forces them to carry on their person at all times. Sometimes they have to use it on themselves, sometimes on somebody else. Yeah, fucking irritating. 

"Good." Doc nods in acknowledgement before he faces Manimal, who's just about to take a sip of his coffee but thinks better of it when he notices Doc's focus turning on him. "Jacks, what is the most important thing to remember when you're wounded in a firefight?"

Ray watches how Manimal sits up a bit straighter and Ray can't contain an amused little smirk at seeing how Doc instils respect even in the likes of Manimal, one of those guys who'd usually bristle and act up on purpose if treated like a school boy. Despite being Navy, Doc technically outranks Manimal, but Ray knows that's not the reason for Manimal's reaction. Doc's natural authority is also just a part of it, because what really left an impression is that Doc not only got the drop on Manimal and put his Ka-Bar to his throat, no, he also left _three_ nicks on Manimal's ribcage so far while Manimal didn't even get the Doc _once_. "Even when injured you don't stop shooting until your team or platoon is out of danger. You take the most necessary immediate actions to remain alive and get back on your weapon and keep fighting."

Doc nods briskly in agreement, then he moves on from their table without another word, probably to pester some of the other guys. He's really good at that, but nobody dares to complain. Especially not to his face. The fact that he has the LT's approval for what he's doing doesn't exactly encourage complaints, either.

After almost two months of training with Doc and close to five weeks of being on the same team with him, not to mention sharing the same tent and spending most of their waking - _and_ sleeping - hours in each other's company, Ray's pretty sure that the Doc doesn't particularly like him. Doc's not the most social fellow in general and he's certainly not the most friendly either, but he still seems to get along well with some of the other guys, especially those he's served with before, like Brad, Pappy, Rudy and Lovell. Oh, and Kocher from Third Platoon. Yeah, Doc and Kocher are known to be close friends, rumour even has it that Doc was Kocher's best man at his wedding. 

Doc seems to maintain a certain distance to the men on purpose, Ray easily picked up on that, but with Ray he's mostly just plain out annoyed pretty much all the time. He certainly seems to make sure to keep even more of a distance to Ray than to the other guys, and since that's not necessarily possible in the physical sense, he does it by other means. For example, the Doc has _not even once_ called Ray by anything other than his rank or his last name, although he uses the first names of other men. Doc's also clearly not willing to have _Ray_ use _his_ first name, but that's okay because only very few men dare to do that anyway. So far Ray has heard only Brad, Rudy, Pappy, Lovell and Kocher call him 'Tim', and even they often address him simply as Doc, like all the rest of them do.

Despite everything Ray and Doc work well enough together, that's not the issue. During training for their upcoming bridge mission they've worked like the well oiled machine they're supposed to be. Ray doesn't have to like a guy to be able to work with him. That's clearly the case for the Doc as well, which doesn't surprise Ray in the least because Doc sure is a professional despite his tendency for being pissed off and dropping scorching remarks. But Ray has caught the many _many_ irritated eye-rolls that the Doc can't contain - or just doesn't bother to contain - when Ray does or says something he finds particularly annoying, which seems to be the case more often than not. 

They've already had the odd argument, and those usually happen in the Humvee when they can't avoid each other. Or maybe it's more accurate to describe it as bickering, because neither of them is seriously trying to make point about an important subject, mostly it's just Doc losing his patience with Ray. Not that the Doc doesn't have serious topics and issues to address - he has more than enough of those, actually, everything from incompetent officers to how fucked-up the world is - but when he and Ray fight it usually concerns truly trivial and petty things that are barely worth the breath it takes to say them. Neither of them tends to get loud when they get on each other's nerves, they just turn aggressively sarcastic and their remarks often become so scorching that Ray's surprised that the Humvee hasn't caught on fire yet.

Usually they just go their separate ways as soon as they get pissed off at each other, but Ray's well aware that that's not going to be an option once they step off. It'll sure make their fucked-up road trip to Baghdad all the more interesting. He's wondering how long it will take for Brad to lose his patience and order them both to _shut the fuck up_. Maybe Ray should open a betting pool on that. Could make him rich.

Ray didn't really know Doc all that closely when they were assigned to the same team - still doesn't, if he's entirely honest here - and it's not like Ray set out to get on Doc's nerves. That just happened because, well, they don't have the most compatible personalities, to put it mildly. Nowadays, though... As sick and twisted as it is, but Ray takes a certain pleasure in annoying the shit out of Doc and getting him to start one of their bickering sessions. Ray knows he shouldn't do that, that he's playing with fire, that Doc is a dangerous motherfucker, but it's like he can't help himself, he just _has_ to needle Doc a bit more whenever the opportunity presents itself. And so far the Doc has neither tried to put his Ka-Bar to Ray's throat nor has he attempted to nick his ribcage with its carefully sharpened tip, so it's a safe bet that Ray hasn't yet made him reach his breaking point. What can Ray say, he just always loved playing with fire. And Doc burns particularly hot under his controlled and calm exterior, Ray can tell.

Ray is pretty sure Brad knows what Ray's doing, or at least has an inkling, and he'll definitely kick Ray's ass six ways to Sunday if he _keeps_ doing it once they're on the road. Even now Brad tends to heave the profound sigh of a perpetually stressed, long-suffering mother of four toddlers with ADHD whenever Doc and Ray start getting their arguments on, but he has yet to lose his patience. Ray'll work on that. He's sure he can get Brad to crack reasonably quickly once sleep deprivation is added to the mix and Ray's high on Ripped Fuel - which he's not yet, he's saving his precious stash for when they step off. 

Oh yeah, this is going to be _fun_. 

_So much_ fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts on our dear Ray-Ray? Do you like where this is going?


	3. Tim POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to give Tim a voice ^^ I hope you enjoy the insights!

  


When the LT calls the team leaders together for a round of after-action once they've finished their training exercise, Tim joins them as is expected of him despite the fact that he's not actually a team leader. It's not just Tim's position as the platoon's medical specialist that demands that he participate in team leader meetings, it's also because his long years of experience and his extensive training background make him one of the most highly trained men of the platoon along with Brad, Pappy, Rudy and Lovell. On top of that his rank of Corpsman Second Class makes Tim an E-5 and therefore equivalent to a Sergeant in Marine Corps terms, like the other team leaders. 

Tim takes off his kevlar and shifts his M-16 to his side when he crouches down in the circle formed by the team leaders, Gunny Wynn and the LT. He listens while Fick explains the issues with the execution of the exercise and Brad offers an alternative solution that makes perfect sense contrary to the SOP. 

In Tim's opinion this whole setup is some fucked-up shit - putting Recon Marines in Humvee platoons and making them travel in a fucking convoy in some kind of blitzkrieg warfare that they've never been trained for, using old substandard vehicles without proper armour, most even without fucking doors or even a roof. Tim should probably be glad that they at least have windshields, even if windows clearly never made the list. Or shields for the turrets to protect the exposed main gunners, like the one Brad ordered and is still waiting for. Tim doubts that it will arrive in time, if it arrives at all. He can't help wondering how many gunners he'll have to either patch up or declare KIA because of that blatant negligence. It makes him so angry that he has to grit his teeth. Such an unnecessary, useless loss of life.

Once the after-action meeting disperses, Tim walks over to the carcasses of several burnt out vehicles - he can make out trucks as well as tanks - that are halfway covered by the sand of the desert after more than a decade of exposure to the elements. He needs to get away from the men for a minute to let go of his anger in a moment of peace and quiet, and now is the perfect opportunity to do so while they're still excitedly milling around the Humvees, talking about the exercise and preparing to return to Mathilda for chow. 

When he looks around Tim's gaze catches on Person, who's standing next to their Humvee talking to Garza where he's sitting on the roof inspecting the Mark-19. The corners of Tim's mouth turn down in reflex. Person is competent, Tim will give him that, but he's also fucking annoying. He's a very good driver, especially considering that he doesn't even have a military operating license for this piece of crap Humvee and has only had minimal time to practise handling it. He also has an excellent sense of orientation according to what Tim has observed so far, and extraordinary visual and three-dimensional thinking. He's very intelligent, Tim has no doubt about that, despite how Person seems to try to make it appear the opposite. But Tim has listened to him and Brad talk shop about radio frequencies and encryption protocols, and he has seen Person master radios with an impressive ease, everything from their usage to repairing the actual devices. 

From their training Tim knows that Person is also a very good fighter. He even managed to take down Rudy when they were ground fighting, and that's no mean feat. And while Tim hasn't seen all of what Person can do for the simple reason that their current situation doesn't require all of his skill sets, Tim doesn't doubt that he excels at them. He managed to become a Recon Marine, and the other men treat him with respect despite the fact that Person is on the small and skinny side, which tells Tim all he needs to know about the man. 

But it's not his skills Tim has issues with, it's his personality. Person is so fucking _irritating_ with his tendency so sprout the most outlandish shit Tim has ever heard - and to do so constantly. He also has tried to nick Tim with his Ka-Bar twice so far, and while he got close - closer than any of the other guys save for Rudy - he hasn't succeeded yet, and Tim very much intends to keep it that way. The only reason why _he_ hasn't given Person's ribcage a little nick yet is that he's sure that Person will be wondering about it and that _not knowing_ will drive him crazy. Call Tim petty, but it's his personal revenge for Person being an annoying little shit. Tim can't help wondering how much worse it's going to get once they step off. He's well aware that Person is already taking some kind of stimulant, although so far it's still something mild and in low doses, most likely it's a mixture of dip and the instant coffee crystals Tim has seen him eat here and there. But Tim's not so naive to think that that's going to support Person through an actual invasion - not to mention that he has _seen_ the bottles of Ripped Fuel that Person has stashed away in his personal rucksack. 

Of course Tim doesn't approve of substances like Ripped Fuel - he's a goddamn corpsman, after all, and he knows only too well what that shit does to a person and their body. But Tim is no bright-eyed naive idealist, he knows the gritty, harsh realities of deployments and war. And he's well aware that there's an additional strain on Person as the RTO as well as the driver of the point vehicle - he's basically responsible for the survival of the entire platoon. If he screws up, chances are high that he'll not only get _his_ team killed, but the teams following behind as well. Add to that the severe lack of sleep they're going to suffer, the lack of proper nutrition and the high-level stress alternating with periods of mind-numbing utter boredom, and you have the perfect recipe for an enduring, serious high-pressure situation that will push body and mind well beyond their limits. 

And in this messy situation Tim's job is _not_ to act as a nagging nanny preventing the men from doing whatever it is that keeps them functioning. They're fucking grown-ups, he expects them to know what to do and what _not_ to do. No, his job is to make sure that they don't burn out halfway through this tour, that they remain in a condition that allows them to keep doing their jobs and to do it to the highest standards so that they don't endanger themselves and as a consequence the lives of their fellow Marines. His job is to bring all twenty-three men in his care home alive and as healthy as possible given the fucked up circumstances. 

And if that means that he has to subject himself to Person's high-strung, stimulant-fuled rants to allow him to keep driving them safely, then Tim will do that. That doesn't mean that he's simply going to suffer through it in silence and without any resistance, though. He's not that much of a masochist. And the only reason why he hasn't put his Ka-Bar to Person's throat yet despite how much the guy seems to like to annoy him is that it's a very specific method of establishing dominance, comparable to an alpha in a wolf pack pinning another wolf by the throat, and it's not done lightly. Tim deems it over the top with Person, contrary to guys like Jacks or Chaffin who only accept you if you show that you're without a doubt the stronger one. Not that Person wouldn't be a challenge - Tim is pretty certain that he would be one, he clearly knows how to make up for his lack of size and range by using speed and cunning. But it's a move Tim reserves for when it really becomes necessary, and they're not at that point yet. Not even close.

When Tim notices Espera coming up next to him, he knows that his moment of reprieve is over. Tim throws another quick glance at Person and decides that it's going to be his personal challenge for this deployment to _not_ strangle Person before this tour is over. 

Well, he has always liked a tough challenge. Time to prove that he can master _anything_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a wee word? Anyone? Please? Make my very tiring 12-hour work days a bit brighter? *puppy dog eyes*


	4. Brad POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is my first training session on my way of (hopefully) becoming an EMT. Wish me luck that I don't act dumb or clumsy... *is nervous* I should have studied more...

  


"Pappy. I've got to be at battalion for a while, so make sure nothing happens while I'm there." 

At the sound of the LT's voice Brad looks up from the map book he's studying. There's a man - clearly a civilian - standing next to Fick where he just entered the tent. The man is carrying two large backpacks and looks around curiously, taking in the scene in front of him.

"Brad." The LT says and turns to look at Brad where he's lounging on his mat on the ground. "This is a writer from Rolling Stone. He's going to embed with us, and he's going to ride with your team. Tell Trombley that he will switch to Team Three."

"Yes, sir." Brad replies calmly when Fick turns and leaves, even if he's not happy with the order. He'd rather have kept a rookie wielding a SAW than get a reporter wielding a pen. It basically means that there's nobody to cover the rear right sector. Brad will have to pick up the slack. He can't move Doc to the right side because Ray can't operate a weapon while driving, so that would leave their entire left flank unprotected. 

Brad suppresses a sigh. Awesome. A point vehicle with just two active weapons covering their sectors in addition to the main gun. He's glad to know that Doc's an excellent observer _and_ excellent shot. They'll need it double now. 

"Christeson. Show Rolling Stone Magazine where to stow his shit." Brad says after observing Chaffin and Pappy grill the reporter for a moment. Pappy is eyeing the guy disapprovingly, and Brad notices yet again that a moustache is _not_ a good look on Pappy. 

Neither is it on most of the men, as the past two weeks have proven beyond a doubt. Godfather's moustache-growing contest is going strong by now with quite a lot of the guys in First Recon participating, enlisted men as well as officers, and Brad is tempted to consider Tim the winner out of Second Platoon. Already after a little more than a week he had basically achieved the goal of a proper moustache, and contrary to most other men it actually looks good on him. He has strong beard growth, Brad knows that from the time Tim served in his unit in Afghanistan. He was the first man to sport a thick full beard when they were well removed from razors and shaving cream in the middle of the Afghan mountains. He was closely followed by Kocher, and Brad firmly came in last out of the six men on his team. 

"You gonna write about how we're all baby killers and mama rapers, huh?" Chaffin challenges the reporter who clearly doesn't know how to react to the hostile environment he was just dropped into without any protection or any directions on how to navigate it. Brad is well aware that Fick did that on purpose because he knows that the guy has to prove himself on his own - without an officer holding his hand - if he wants to survive his time with First Recon.

"You gonna tell all them people that read Rolling Stone how it fucking feels to be in a war?" Doc asks in a provocatively bland voice without even looking at the reporter. Brad can very much relate to his reservations about having a journalist on their team.

Doc is pointedly wearing his watch cap despite the fact that it's the middle of the afternoon and Godfather banned watch caps between 0900 and 1700. Since Tim is Navy, he isn't bound to Godfather's grooming standard and he's clearly making use of that fact to make a point for all of the men. Sixta was by earlier and undoubtedly understood what Tim was doing, but he never said a word to him about it because Sixta knows he has no authority over Doc concerning that matter. Many of the men witnessed it and later slapped Doc on the shoulder and back in recognition and approval of his wordless provocative rebellion. Fick just now clearly took note of Doc's attire as well, but he showed no signs of disapproval, instead it seemed to Brad as if he suppressed a smirk. 

"Actually, most avid readers of Rolling Stone only really know what it feels like to have a cock up their assholes." Ray retorts, and Brad spots Tim roll his eyes at the comment. Despite working together smoothly, Doc and Ray still don't really get along. By now Brad has corrected his analogy to them being like fire and gasoline instead of fire and water, although he can't really decide who's the fire and who's the gasoline in that scenario. But Brad doubts that it's going to get better with a fucking journalist in their victor. 

"Could be worse. I used to write for Hustler." Reporter replies casually, and the reactions to that specific piece of information are immediate.

"You wrote for Hustler?" Chaffin questions him while he stops their progress through the tent by putting his hand out in front of Reporter.

"We're in the presence of greatness." Tim comments very drily and Brad can't quite hold back a little snort. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Ray jump up off the floor, then he's hurrying over to Reporter and begins to quiz him on what exactly he wrote for Hustler. Brad is pretty sure that the guy had no idea that this one offhand comment would make his life so much easier. 

Brad watches out of the corner of his eye how Chaffin, Gabe, Poke and Stafford have a go at Reporter, and they most certainly take great pleasure in screwing with his mind. He obviously completely falls for it judging by the shocked expression on his face, and Brad sighs inwardly. 

Awesome. Now he'll have to make sure this peace-freak writer survives his time with them - physically as well as mentally - in order to avoid seriously bad press that'll make command very unhappy. As if his life wasn't complicated enough already just by having Ray and Doc on his team. 

Well, Marines make do. And Brad excels at that.


	5. Ray POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a wee bit longer than the previous ones, but I'm sure you won't mind ^^ And in a funny coincidence the burn treatment I name here actually featured in my EMT course today - and I wrote this scene over a week ago... XD Life's giving me hints here, I think XD

  


"Why the fuck didn't you come get me right away?" Doc's voice is rough with anger when he strides past Brad into the tent of Second and Third Platoon, and while he's not addressing anybody in particular, Ray can tell by the guys' faces that they all feel chided. Rudy looks particularly guilty, as if he's being eaten alive by his bad conscience. 

"Whose fucking idea was it to press a goddamn _dry_ towel to a fresh burn? Was it at least clean?" Doc keeps growling more or less under his breath while he's kneeling down in front of Ray and reaches for the towel that Ray is still pressing to his face because it fucking _hurts_. Rudy's espresso maker is a fucking weapon. If they run out of bullets, they can resort to attacking the Iraqis with portable stoves and espresso makers. Improvised homemade RPGs, Recon Marine style.

"Let go of the towel, Person. Lower your hands, I've got it." Doc's voice orders quietly but firmly, and Ray feels how Doc's latex-covered fingers are carefully but insistently replacing his, thereby making him let go. Doc begins to gingerly remove the towel, and Ray can't contain the flinch when he feels the fabric sticking to his raw skin and pulling painfully on the burn. He really hopes this won't put him out of commission. He came here to invade a country, not to get taken out by a fucking stove. What a fantastic inscription for his tombstone: _Here lies Ray Person, heroic Recon Marine, killed in his tent by an insidious portable stove on the eve of the Iraq war._ But all jokes aside, if this shit impacted on his eye he knows he's out of this tour for good. Not even _their_ command is dumb enough to take a visually impaired Marine into war, much less as the driver of the lead vehicle.

"Fucking idiots. I really need to add burn treatment to my list of stuff I have to get into their thick skulls." Doc grumbles under his breath as he's peeling the towel off the injured flesh bit by bit. His hands are surprisingly gentle, though, and Ray thinks they're a sharp contrast to his angry words. "Seriously, is it so hard to at least remember to get the towel wet before pressing it to a fresh burn? You'd think they've never encountered a burn before in their entire lives." 

Ray takes a deep breath when the fabric finally comes free, and he sees out of the corner of his eye how Doc hands the towel to Brad, who is standing next to the crate Ray is sitting on. Then Doc's left hand takes hold of Ray's chin to angle his face the way he wants it. Ray can still see the angry frown on his face while Doc's inspecting the injury closely, however his touch is soft yet sure, and Ray suddenly feels an unexpected sense of calm come over him. While glancing at Doc who's abnormally close to him in order to inspect the injury, Ray randomly notices that Doc has an unusual eye colour, a kind of remarkably dark blue with a few lighter specks around the iris. It's kind of pretty, actually. Ray's distracted from the haphazard thought when Doc shines a light in his eyes and then makes him follow the tip of his finger with his gaze. All the while Doc asks him questions about his sight, whether he's feeling dizzy or has a headache and if he ever lost consciousness when he was injured, all of which Ray is glad to answer in the negative. 

"It's just a minor burn, looks worse than it is. It's reasonably extensive, but the eye was not impaired." Doc offers his verdict to Ray as well as Brad after a further moment of visual inspection as well as some painful but careful prodding. Ray is _very very_ relieved to hear those words. Maybe _'death by portable stove'_ won't be inscribed on his tombstone after all.

"So he'll be fine?" Brad asks with a frown that tells Ray that he was genuinely worried, even if he may never say so out loud. Awwww, it's so adorable when Big Bad Iceman Brad shows his papa bear side.

"Yeah, this won't negatively impact on his combat readiness." Doc confirms with a nod while he's getting up off the floor. "It'll take a minimum of three weeks to heal, but it'll heal. Might leave a bit of scarring, but nothing too bad as long as Person here doesn't scratch when it starts itching." 

"I think I'll manage to contain myself." Ray remarks with a roll of his eyes. 

"We'll certainly find out." Doc replies with a raised eyebrow that seems sceptical and challenging at the same time. "The most important thing is to keep the wound from getting infected. That means that you will come with me to the infirmary tent now, Person, so that I can treat that burn appropriately. Once I'm done you're free to return to your duties."

"Sure, take him, Doc." Brad consents with a wave of his hand as if the last sentence was meant for him rather than Ray. Ray is tempted to snort, because Doc would have taken him to the infirmary tent even if Brad had _not_ given his okay. The Doc wasn't exactly asking for permission here, and he sure knows that as the highest ranking medical professional in the platoon, his decision overrules any rank, enlisted or officer, in medical concerns regarding the men's well-being. 

Doc is graceful enough not to mention it, though, instead he just makes Ray get up off the crate he was sitting on. Ray notices that Doc keeps a hand right by Ray's upper arm as if he's prepared to grab Ray should he get dizzy, but it's an unfounded precaution because Ray's head is fine apart from the freshly grilled patches on his cheek, forehead and nose. Now he knows what a steak must feel like when it gets barbecued. He'll make sure to eat his next steak with more appreciation for its suffering.

"Come on, Person." Doc says when he ushers - or rather bullies - Ray towards the tent's entrance, and Ray is well aware of the many eyes that follow them, among them Rudy's guilt-ridden gaze. Ray finds it kind of funny that Rudy can kill a guy in cold blood - he's a fucking sniper, and a damn good one at that, with many confirmed kills under his belt - but inadvertently roasting one side of Ray's face gives him a serious crisis of conscience. It's not like Ray blames him in any way, after all Rudy couldn't have predicted what would happen, he'd operated the stove according to regulation. Well, except for the part where it was situated inside the tent instead of outside of it, but that's certainly not the reason why it exploded. Ray's assured of that.

It takes a few minutes to walk to Matilda's infirmary, and passing through the maze of tents reminds Ray of the by now four times he's waited behind one of those tents or even inside their own in his quest to _finally_ get the drop on Doc. It's become a bit of a competition among the guys to be the first to nick Doc's ribcage. Well, almost the first, since Rudy already did it - but Rudy doesn't count. Rudy gets everybody. Rudy is Rudy, that's another category. His very own category.

Sadly Ray has not succeeded yet to get the Doc, but neither have any of the other guys, so he hasn't given up hope yet, he's still in the game. He's close - or at least he came very close those four times, but near enough is not good enough. He has to do better. He wants to win that competition. And he really really _really_ wants to know why Doc hasn't even _attempted_ to give _his_ ribcage a nice little mark yet. Ray knows for a fact that he's done it to almost all the other guys, but he seems to pointedly exclude Ray from his nick list. Ray doesn't like that. He doesn't get why - considering that he's been annoying Doc more than anybody else, he should be at the top of that list. It bugs him. He's almost tempted to ask, if that didn't feel too much like admitting defeat. 

When they get to the infirmary tent Doc makes Ray sit down on one of the multiple field cots before he retrieves a ready-made box with various supplies and utensils. While he's putting on a clean pair of gloves Doc explains to Ray what's happening next. "I'm going to have to clean the remaining fibres of that damn dry towel out of the burn first, and that will hurt."

Ray just shrugs. "I've had worse, homes. I'll live."

"I know. I'm familiar with your medical file." Doc remarks drily. Ray wouldn't be surprised to find out that he knows the patient files of every single man in his charge by heart. "Once the burn is cleaned, I'll apply an antibiotic ointment to keep it from getting infected, and I'll cover it with a loose bandage - just a piece of non-stick gauze, really - to keep it protected for now." 

"Awesome! I'll look really pitiful and that'll ensure that Rudy will spoil me with his awesome coffee for the next few days to make up for his volatile stove." Ray grins, which he immediately discovers is a bad idea when you have a burn covering your cheek. "Ouch."

Doc's mouth quirks as if he's suppressing a smirk while he's retrieving a strip of gauze, and Ray wonders whether it's about what he said or because he was dumb enough to hurt himself by grinning. Both are equally viable options. 

"Now hold still, Person." Doc takes up a pair of mean-looking pointy forceps, then he settles his left hand around Ray's chin in a firm but surprisingly gentle grip and guides his head down and to the side. Ray can feel the warmth of his fingers even through the latex glove and decides to concentrate on that sensation instead of the sharp bursts of pain where the tip of the forceps is repeatedly touching the burnt skin on his forehead. It's true that Ray's had much worse than this, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't feel the pain now, and distraction is always a good way of dealing with pain.

"That damn towel was definitely _not_ clean." Doc mutters after a minute or two with a frown on his face while he's concentrating on picking stuff out of the burn and wiping it off on the piece of gauze that he has set down on the cot beside Ray's thigh. Ray can only assume that most of it is fibres from the towel and probably _a lot_ of grains of sand - because there's sand _everywhere_ in this fucking country, and it certainly sticks particularly well to towels. 

"Frankly, Doc, I don't think there even _is_ a clean towel anywhere in that tent." Ray comments drily. 

"Most likely not." Doc agrees without ever looking away from what he's doing. "But all of you have sterile gauze in your blowout kits, and yet nobody got the bright idea to maybe soak that in water and then use it to cool the burnt skin. Seems I need to up the ante and drill you guys some more."

Now that Doc's mentioning it, Ray realises that yeah, the gauze would have been an option, but it frankly never even occurred to him, and obviously not to any of the other guys either. Maybe that's because an exploding stove in their tent doesn't quite feel like an appropriate reason to dig into the emergency supplies. 

"It didn't feel like enough of an emergency to warrant breaking open our blowout kits." Ray tells Doc after a moment of thinking about it.

Doc rolls his eyes as if that's a very dumb reason. "Somebody got hurt, so it was a medical emergency - even if a mild one. And that's what that stuff is for. We're still in camp and I can easily replenish any used material, so there's no need to resort to gritty towels to treat an injury and make it worse in the process by risking infection by introducing dirt and germs into a fresh wound."

Yeah, okay, so Ray can admit that he sees the Doc's point here, considering that the cleaning procedure brought on by the use of the less than fresh towel is rather unpleasant and could have been avoided entirely. Ray forces himself not to flinch, knowing very well that it'll only make it hurt worse if he moves while the Doc has those nasty forceps close to the injured skin of his face. 

"Done." Doc lets Ray know after a period of time that Ray is unable to define in its length. His left cheek, forehead and nose feel like they're on fire - pun fully intended - when Doc finally sets the forceps aside on the pad of gauze where he wiped off whatever it was that he extracted from Ray's beautiful newly-acquired burn. 

"There's aloe in this ointment, it'll ease the burning sensation." Doc says - as if he knew exactly what Ray was thinking, which is a bit freaky - when he uncaps a tube and squeezes a bit of the gel on a new patch of gauze. He uses a long cotton swab to spread it gingerly over Ray's left cheek and forehead and across the bridge of his nose while his other hand is cupping Ray's right cheek to keep him still. Ray notices that for once there's no frown on Doc's face, instead he's showing a surprisingly calm expression of relaxed concentration while he's working, and for some inexplicable reason Ray suddenly _feels_ his competence in a way he never quite noticed before. It's not that he ever doubted that the Doc is excellent at what he does - Brad's high regard of him is a clear indication that he must be _very_ good - but he didn't really give it any thought because he was never in Doc's care before today. But right now... Right now Doc gives Ray the feeling that he's in the most capable hands there are, that he's _safe_ , and it's a strange and at the same time profoundly soothing feeling. Ray's not sure what to make of it, but he finds that he likes it. 

"All right, we're almost done. Just the bandage left." Doc remarks when he has finished applying the antibiotic ointment and sets the cotton swab aside. He gets a fresh piece of gauze out of its sterile packaging, but this one looks different than the ones he used before. Less like fabric. With a few efficient movements Doc has taped one piece over the burned patch on Ray's forehead, then another one to his cheek, before he cuts a smaller piece to size to use on Ray's nose. 

"Okay, that's it. Most important thing is to keep it clean. That means do your best to keep that goddamn sand out. Tomorrow around noon you come find me and I change the dressing." Doc orders while he's pulling off his gloves and packs up the materials. "If it hurts worse, swells up, reddens, or begins to ooze or smell you tell me _immediately_. Understood?"

"Aye aye, Doc." Ray replies with a mock salute and a grin that is restricted to the uninjured side of his face this time so that he doesn't hurt himself again. 

Doc cocks an eyebrow and manages to make the gesture astonishingly menacing. "If you don't, I'll still find out because I'm in the same fucking tent and the same fucking Humvee as you, and then I'll make you regret your life choices, Person."

"Solid copy." Ray says with a quick nod because he knows the Doc is not actually joking about this. And a suspicious corpsman is a scary corpsman. 

Doc keeps scrutinising him for a few more seconds, then he gathers the used materials and throws them in the garbage before he turns back to Ray. "You want any pain relief?"

"Nah, I'm good, Doc." Ray shakes his head no for emphasis because he hates painkillers. They make him groggy and unfocused, and he profoundly dislikes not being alert, especially in _this_ setting - on deployment with no privacy and nowhere to retreat to, always surrounded by a bunch of cocky Recon Marines. Yeah, there's a reason why he's not much one for downers and never was.

And it doesn't hurt _that_ bad. He really had much much worse before.

"Okay. But if you can't sleep tonight, let me know and I'll give you a mild painkiller just for the night." Doc agrees with a slow nod, as if he understands why Ray is reluctant to take painkillers. Either Doc is a psychic, or he just reads people really really well, Ray decides. "I carry those painkillers in my medical bag anyway and I'm sleeping just two mats away from you, so don't hesitate to come to me even in the middle of the night."

For once Doc's attitude is not threatening or pissed off, instead he's looking at Ray with a kind of quiet sincerity in his eyes that tells Ray loud and clear that Doc means what he's saying. It's a totally different side of him, one that Ray hasn't seen so far, and he decides right then and there that Doc's not actually that bad when he's not snarking at Ray.

Not that the snarking isn't fun, too.


	6. Reporter POV

  


Evan bites into his slice of pizza and concentrates on what his table companions are saying, trying to hear the words over the general commotion in the tent where the Pizza Hut drivers from Kuwait City are haggling over the pizzas they're selling to the Marines. Next to Evan at the table are Gabe and then Walt, and opposite of them Doc, Rudy and Pappy have sat down while Lovell has just taken the seat at the head of the table. They're sharing two boxes of pizza between them, and Evan made sure to chip in equally in paying for the severely overpriced slices. The enthusiasm the Marines are displaying for pizza is astonishing to Evan, but he reminds himself that he got to enjoy the fruits of civilisation until about a week ago while they have been deprived of such creature comforts for at least six weeks at that point, maybe even longer. That certainly would make him too appreciate a slice of pizza much more than he usually does.

He had the chance to talk to some of the guys one-on-one already - as much as that is possible given that there's basically no privacy at all - among them Colbert, Kocher, Rudy, Walt, Person - _fuck, just call me Ray, homes_ \- and Doc Bryan. Yeah, Evan's been a busy bee those past three days since he got placed with Bravo Two. But more than wanting a headstart on his article, he just really wanted to get an idea of who those guys are that he'll be spending the next weeks with.

Evan has already filled numerous pages in his notebook and he has learned quite a lot of things already - one of them being that a knife to the throat or the ribcage is not meant as a deadly threat among Recon Marines, but as a sign of inclusion and hospitality. Evan would have loved to have known that _before_ he was first jumped and then poked with a very sharp blade on his first day with the platoon. It gave him a freaking heart attack and made him rethink his life choices in those minutes it took him to understand that he wasn't about to die by stabbing. By now Evan has lost count of the times he found himself with a Ka-Bar to his ribs, but he tries to see it as a good thing that the guys include him in their twisted rituals. Interestingly enough neither Colbert nor Doc Bryan have done that to Evan so far, but Gabe and Ray have. Evan's not quite sure what to make of that, he's still working on understanding the complicate dynamics.

Evan returns his focus to the conversation at the table where Pappy is telling them some anecdote relating to pizza from some earlier deployment that he, Rudy and Doc Bryan were on together. The other two men join in with comments while Pappy keeps spinning his yarn, and Evan can't help noticing that Doc seems unusually relaxed right now with that little smile on his face while he's adding to the story. 

Doc Bryan fascinates Evan in the same way Colbert does. They both seems oddly out of place while at the same time they're also fitting in perfectly - which he knows is contradictory, but that's the impression he gets. Bryan and Colbert are clearly very competent and intelligent, and there's absolutely no doubt that both are highly respected and well-liked by their peers, but yet they both keep themselves apart from the other men to a certain degree. They don't mingle in the same way the other men do, they don't join in the general hyper-masculine posing or the often very derogative remarks and stories about female conquests. They also clearly like being left alone from time to time, which surprisingly the men not only accept but also never comment on it the way Evan is sure they would with others. It's another one of those covert signs of respect, Evan assumes, and he finds it interesting that it doesn't make Colbert or Bryan outcasts in any way. Yeah, he'll need to continue working on gaining an understanding of those dynamics.

Evan is distracted from his musings when Doc Bryan breaks out in a whole-hearted belly laugh at something Pappy said, even slapping the table with his hand in his amusement. It takes Evan by surprise because it's the first time he has seen Doc laugh since he joined Bravo Two. It's fascinating how it transforms him, the effect even more striking than when Colbert smiles. Doc's entire presence is suddenly so very different when his usual frown is replaced by the jovial, charismatic laugh that spreads over his entire face and makes his eyes crinkle in a way that tells Evan loud and clear that there's more to the man than meets the eye. More than he tends to show the men he serves with. It makes Evan curious, because, well, he's a reporter at heart and curiosity is not just something that comes with the territory, but one of his innate character traits. Good thing that Doc is on his team and that Evan will have weeks to study him. And Colbert, too.

The next morning is very busy after they get told that they're going to move north across the desert to a staging area just twenty kilometres away from the border to Iraq. Evan watches as the men pack the trucks and Humvees, then they make him carry stuff too - to earn his keep, as Ray puts it. And when they're finally done and the Sergeant Major's address is over, they just sit in the cars and wait. For hours. 

Evan is sweating like crazy in the stuffy MOPP suit and his helmet, and he wishes he could take it all off and sit in the Humvee in shorts and a t-shirt. He turns to look at Doc Bryan who's sitting in the backseat next to him, reading a thick novel that Evan knows is a Clive Cussler action thriller that's making the round of the platoon. It looks old and worn, the cover is ripped and there are more dog-ears than unfolded page corners, but Doc clearly doesn't mind. He seems remarkably relaxed and at ease sitting here reading his book and ignoring the world around him, and Evan can't help wondering how the heck he's dealing with the heat so well. He doesn't look anywhere near as sweaty as Evan feels. But maybe that's because his camo bandana is hiding that his forehead is as wet as Evan's. Could be. 

This waiting game is driving Evan crazy. First they get all worked up to head off, and now they're sitting here in the smouldering heat for hours on end without moving an inch. And all of that because the battalion translator - and he's still amazed that it really is singular, as in _one_ translator - hasn't arrived yet. Seriously, that is some shitty organisational skill right here. Certainly not what Evan expected from the Marine Corps when they're planning an invasion, but the other guys in his Humvee seem entirely unsurprised by the whole thing. That's probably not a good omen, Evan can't help thinking while he's listening to Colbert and Ray argue over Ray's seemingly wrong technique to spit out chewing tobacco.

The burns on Ray's face are still clearly visible even from Evan's spot in the backseat, but he thinks they look a lot better than when Ray got them three days ago. Evan has seen Doc check them regularly, and twice he applied some kind of ointment. Then yesterday morning he told Ray that he's good to leave the bandage off if he wants to - which he did, despite explaining to Evan how it means that he can't quite as easily guilt-trip Rudy into making him coffee anymore. Evan has been the recipient of one or two cups of Rudy's coffee and he has to admit that it ranges among the best coffee he's ever had, so he certainly understands why Ray is reluctant to give up the privilege he's been enjoying the past few days. Evan has observed Rudy bringing Ray cups of his coffee more or less regularly, and now Evan gets that Ray's been guilt-tripping him into it in addition to Rudy just being a really nice guy.

When Colbert announces that the translator has finally arrived and that they're off to the staging area, Evan feels a sudden wave of nervousness and unease wash over him. This is it, he's going to war. Shit is on, as Ray would say.

"Hey, War Scribe, want some dip?" Ray sounds suspiciously chipper at the prospect of them finally getting on the road. Or maybe that's the effect of the dip he just consumed. "First couple of times I dipped, I puked a little bit." 

Evan hesitates because he has never tried chewing tobacco before and he's not sure now is a good time to start, but on the other hand it feels like an opening to get closer to these guys. The possibility of puking from it doesn't sound too tempting, though, and Ray seems to not only be aware of that, but to actively enjoy putting Evan off and at the same time provoking him into trying it. 

"But as long as you don't get it in Brad's Humvee, we won't mind." He adds in a challenging tone of voice, maybe with a hint of mockery underneath it as if he wants to say that he thinks Evan is too chickenshit to try it anyway. As if to push Evan's decision, he turns around and holds out the small round tin.

Evan can't keep his gaze from flickering over to Doc Bryan as if he's looking for a recommendation on whether he should accept or decline Ray's offer. Doc just cocks an eyebrow in a way that seems to tell Evan something along the lines of _'Good luck with that, I'd never touch that shit'_ , but he doesn't actually say anything. Evan has already noticed that Doc Bryan doesn't seem to share the most common vices of the men. He doesn't smoke, doesn't take stimulants beyond his appreciation for really strong coffee, he doesn't make racist or homophobic comments and - it seems - he doesn't dip, either. He certainly swears, though. _That_ Evan has witnessed already on several occasions. 

Against his better judgement Evan accepts the tin Ray is holding out to him and places some of the tobacco between his bottom lip and his gum like he has seen Ray and Colbert do. He doesn't even manage to keep it in his mouth for a minute before he has to spit it out of the window, and he's very glad that he seems not to have gotten it on the Humvee or Colbert would have chided him like he did with Ray. 

Now Evan gets why Doc doesn't like it. It really is disgusting - like licking an ashtray full of soggy cigarettes. It must be an acquired taste, Evan thinks when he glances at Doc Bryan again, whose expression clearly tells him _'you're such a dumb, sorry idiot'_ without him even saying a word. He might be right.

It takes them fourteen hours to get to the staging area, because once they get to the highway, they're instantly stuck in traffic because there are so many troops moving at the same time. Throughout pretty much the entire drive Ray keeps up a running commentary on everything from the retards who organised this invasion to his opinion about how porn could be made more diverse despite Colbert's repeated demands for him to shut up. Evan finds it amusing and enlightening and he makes sure to note down anything of interest that Ray says, but he can also see how Doc Bryan slowly progresses from rolling his eyes to heavy sighing to gritting his teeth more than once as if he's trying to rein in the urge to physically _make_ Ray shut up. He cuts into Ray's monologue with rather sharp and increasingly aggressive comments on a more or less regular basis, but Ray only seems to thrive on them as if he's actively enjoying it to annoy the Doc.

Even after just a few days of knowing them, Evan can't say that he's too surprised that Ray and Doc Bryan obviously don't get on too well. He wonders whose bright idea it was to jam those two into the same Humvee. Considering how many men there are in this platoon alone, he's sure there would have been a more fitting option.

But that would have been too easy. Evan is already beginning to understand that Recon Marines always do things the hard way.


	7. Tim POV

  


The temperature has fallen considerably ever since the sun set, and when they finally arrive at the staging area long after midnight it's pretty cold. Tim's not surprised by that, after all it's not a secret what the climate is like in Kuwait and Iraq. He came prepared and is now wearing his fleece jacket underneath his MOPP suit while he's sitting in front of the Humvee with Brad, Garza and Reporter while Person is off taking a dump. They're cleaning their weapons and Reporter is scribbling in his little black notebook in deep concentration, and it's a surprisingly relaxing moment of peace and quiet after the long drive when Person was jabbering incessantly. Tim is still undecided whether to be impressed by Person's stamina or deeply worried about what that means for the remainder of the tour. He certainly is proud of himself for not attempting to choke Person even once in the past fifteen or so hours. 

Tim looks up when he notices Jacks approaching their Humvee and ducking under the cammie net where they've dug out their ranger graves next to the vehicle. 

"I’m sick of this war." Jacks complains when he sits down with his feet in Brad's ranger grave. 

Brad just looks at him with a mockingly cocked eyebrow. "That was fast considering that it hasn’t even started yet."

"It’s fucking cold out here," Jacks keeps on whining and Tim is tempted to point out that that's why the _smart_ men have packed extra cold-weather gear - because they may get called pussies for bringing it, but in the end they're the ones who _don't_ whine.

"You can’t be cold.” Brad mocks Jacks, clearly enjoying the moment. "You’re a killer. A big bad Recon Marine."

"Yeah, but I didn’t pack no snivel gear," Jacks grumbles under his breath, as if he's feeling maybe a little sheepish for having to admit that. 

Tim's not above travelling with snivel gear - he's way past such misguided ways to prove how hard he is, even if he's willing to admit that he succumbed to them at the beginning of his career as well. But by now he has treated too many consequences of such stupidity to even consider doing it himself. On top of that he's the platoon's only medical specialist, if he's out of commission they have a serious problem. It's fair for him to be taken out by a bullet or a mortar or a piece of shrapnel, but not by a fucking cold that is his own fault. He's responsible for the men, after all, and that also means he has to make sure that he does everything in his power to keep _himself_ in working condition. 

"You got a fleece I can borrow till the war’s over?" Jacks asks and looks from Brad to Garza and even to Reporter. He either doesn't dare to include Tim in his request or thinks he'll be ignored anyway. Tim wonders how many of the men Jacks already tried before he ended up grovelling at their feet.

"I have no spare, oh fearless warrior." Brad replies with a smirk that doesn't seem entirely sorry.

"Me neither." Garza says, and Reporter also shakes his head no with genuine regret in his expression. Tim just sighs on the inside while on the outside he gives Jacks a glare. 

"Well, I do." Tim remarks, then he stretches up and behind him so that he can dig into his personal rucksack that's sitting in the Humvee behind him, and he pulls out another fleece jacket. Tim never deploys without a spare one - because there's _always_ at least one guy who thinks himself completely resistant to the cold only to find out that it's not quite true. And Tim would rather share a piece of his snivel gear than to have a man develop a persistent cold that slowly progresses into full blown pneumonia the longer it goes on. He'd love to say that he's being dramatic and that he's exaggerating the issue, but he has seen it happen before. More than once. Climate is the one thing that always wins out in the end, even over the most hardened men.

"I expect to get it back, Jacks." Tim says pointedly when he holds out his jacket to Jacks, who seems very surprised by _Tim_ being the one offering him snivel gear. Tim's not quite sure whether it's because he never in a million years thought that Tim would be willing to lend him clothes, or because he didn't expect Tim to even _have_ snivel gear in the first place.

"Yeah, of course, Doc." Jacks replies when he has recovered from his surprise. He accepts the fleece and immediately shrugs out of his MOPP suit jacket to pull it on, which tells Tim that he must have been _really_ cold considering that this is almost an admission of weakness. "Thanks, Doc."

Tim nods to acknowledge his words of gratitude. He's not about to tell Jacks or any of the other men that he actually uses this jacket specifically as a spare to hand out during deployments to those idiots who are either too proud or to stupid to bring their own cold-weather gear. It has been around a few platoons already, and while Tim himself has never worn it, dozens of Recon Marines have. 

Because that's part of his job, too: Making sure even the too-proud idiots make it through to the other side.


	8. Reporter POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear **military_bluebells** , I know you've been secretly waiting for this. Hehehe... Enjoy XD

  


_"All Hitman Two victors, be advised, we are five klicks till Breach Point Two."_ Fick's voice sounds tinny over the radio, but Evan is already getting used to that. 

They've been on the road for several hours now, heading for the Iraqi border to start the invasion, and Evan has heard the radio crackle to life more times than he can count in addition to Colbert passing on information coming through his headset. The Humvee is bumping over the ground - Evan's not sure they're actually on a road anymore - and through the open windows he can hear the countless trucks around them, even if he can't actually see them in the dark of the night. It's frequently interrupted by explosions, but they're distant and muted by the cloud cover, so they don't provide enough illumination to give Evan even a glimpse of the countless vehicles that he knows are in front of them. And next to them and behind them and just generally everywhere, it seems. There sure is a lot of logistics involved in invading a country.

"Man, I wish I had some 'shrooms." Ray's voice sounds suspiciously happy about what he's seeing, and for a moment Evan wishes he had NVGs as well so that he could get an idea of what exactly it is that Ray is so jazzed about.

"You most certainly _don't_ need any more shit coursing through your system, Person." Doc Bryan points out in no uncertain terms from where he's sitting behind Ray, and Evan reluctantly has to agree. Ray seems pretty stoked already, and has been almost since they left the staging area. With the exception of a few minutes here or there he's been talking almost incessantly, and it has definitely gotten worse the longer they're on the road - the frequency of his rants as well as the topics he's devoting his attention to. It's interesting and entertaining, no doubt about that, but it also seems a bit unhealthy considering that any normal person would have run out of steam hours ago. Not Ray, though. Evan may even be a bit in awe.

"Watch the fucking road, Ray." Colbert orders when Ray is taking a deep breath as if he's preparing for another round of talking. He deflates and remains quiet, but it doesn't last long.

"This is the fucking shit!" Ray keeps enthusing about the scene in front of them, obviously very much enjoying it. To Evan the night is mostly just black with the flashes of explosions lighting it up in various directions and in irregular but pretty much constant intervals. It's not something that would inspire him to consume 'shrooms, so Ray's night vision goggles must give it quite a different flair, and Evan is nothing if not curious. 

"Why the 'shrooms? What does it look like through your NVGs?" Evan asks like the good reporter he is. Because if he can't see it himself, he can at least get a description. It's called research. For his troubles he gets an angry glare from Doc Bryan - not that Evan can actually see it since Doc's face is hidden behind his NVGs, but Evan certainly _feels_ it on his skin, and there's _no way_ to misunderstand the disapproving line around his mouth.

"Don't you fucking encourage him." Doc growls at Evan, and there's a clear warning in his words.

But it's too late, Ray has already taken the cue and seems highly motivated to follow through with an elaborate explanation. "See, Reporter, NVGs work by enhancing ambient light, so while _you_ can barely see shit right now, _we_ see everything like a fucking display of green-tinged, flickering, psychedelic Christmas lights. Every round and every explosion lights up like a fucking green lightning, just, you know, sometimes not all zigzag and shit, but like, round or just shooting through your field of vision. Add to that that there's basically no depth perception with NVGs, and you have the perfect LSD trip. Just in green instead of rainbow-coloured." 

Doc throws Evan another NVG-covered death glare now that Ray is clearly on a roll again and it's undoubtedly Evan's fault. Evan even thinks there's a disapproving tilt to Colbert's shoulders. Ray in the meantime doesn't stop talking - sometimes Evan wonders when he's actually breathing - and Evan makes sure to scribble as many key words into his notebook as he can. It's a makeshift job and he knows that, because writing in the almost total dark is never very effective, but Evan trained himself to be able to do it nevertheless. Specifically for that purpose he carries a hard, not too sharp pencil that he uses instead of his pen, because he has learned that if he writes with enough pressure he can feel the letters in the dark with his fingertips while a hard pencil is not prone to smearing. That allows him to avoid - mostly - to scribble over things he already wrote down, and while it's far from perfect, it's better than nothing and it's enough to jog his memory when he gets down to taking decent notes in the daylight. Especially considering how much he _really_ needs to remember from their constant night trips, he has found it to be a very useful skill.

Ray is still explaining his reasoning for the need of 'shrooms to Evan and basically the entire Humvee. "On top of that there are flashing little infrared lights - we call them fireflies, because that's what they look like - mounted on the antennas of every American vehicle that _you_ again can't see with the naked eye, but _we_ can with the NVGs, and they're bobbing from one side to the other the entire time, kinda makes you want to sway your head in sync. Now imagine you added some 'shrooms to the mixture - that would make this entire thing even _more_ lunatic than it already is, but you know, _genuinely_ lunatic, and it would be so much more fun to be on a trip while we are driving in fucking circles through the fucking desert in the middle of the night."

"Ah, and why exactly are we driving around in circles? I thought we'd been given a breach point already? Shouldn't we be there by now?" Evan dares to ask from the backseat even at the risk of sounding like an idiot, because he's genuinely confused about that. They've been driving through the night for at least seven or eight hours, which seems a bit long for a distance of just twenty kilometres. 

Ray jumps on that question immediately. "Maybe because a certain severely retarded company commander by the name of Encino Man who, in his infinite retardation, duct-taped his Humvee windows. Thought he was being all tactical and shit, until Bravo missed the turn at the checkpoint 'cause retard couldn't see out his fucking truck."

"Ray." Colbert admonishes from the passenger seat, but his attempt to rein in Ray's rant is swallowed by Doc Bryan chiming in.

"That imbecile is so incompetent I'm always astonished that he has already mastered the art of putting one foot in front of the other." Doc makes no effort at all to hide his disdain. "Just don't expect any higher brain functions or - god forbid - a rational, competent decision on just about anything."

"Doc." Cobert says in pretty much the same chiding tone as he did with Ray, but he gets just as deliberately ignored as before. To Evan it seems as if there's some kind of long-suffering sigh following his words, but that might be his imagination. 

"Never thought I'd say that, but fuck yeah, Doc, you're totally right." Ray is definitely on a roll and the fact that for once Doc Bryan shares his opinion instead of opposing him seems to have pushed him even higher. "With that guy there's layers of retardation that most people don't even know about." Ray actually turns around and looks at Evan while waving his hand at him, and Evan has to forcefully suppress the urge to tell him to keep both hands on the wheel and to watch the damn road because he _really_ doesn't want to die pancaked under another truck. "You should quote me on that!"

Evan wonders if he actually has a right - morally - to use any of this given that Ray is most certainly under the influence while he's talking. But then he seems to be under the influence pretty much all the time, so maybe that evens it out. Colbert is distracted from trying to calm Ray down by his radio, something about Breach Point Two that has been mentioned several times before and that seems to be their destination for now. Well, that changed before, so Evan won't believe it until he sees it.

Ray's definitely _not_ distracted by the radio contact and continues with his ramblings. "How come we can't ever invade a cool country, like chicks in bikinis, you know? How come countries like that don't ever need Marines?"

"Person, I have the duct tape _right here_ , within easy reach." Doc Bryan growls over to the driver's seat, but Ray talks over him as if he either didn't hear him or doesn't much care. Evan is pretty sure it's option B.

"I'll tell you why." Ray rants on with flourish, including waving his hand around again. "It's lack of pussy that fucks countries up."

"Be careful, Person. Don't make me use it." Doc threatens quietly, but for some reason that makes it even more effective - at least on Evan. He's not sure Doc is joking, here. Not sure at all. Evan can actually _see_ the duct tape - Doc has the roll taped to the back of Ray's seat, and suddenly Evan wonders if that's by chance or by design. "You don't need your mouth to drive, and Brad has a radio, too, so there's no reason why I _shouldn't_ duct tape your mouth shut."

"Doc-" Colbert seems unwilling to be drawn into that threat as an accomplice, but he doesn't get very far. 

"Lack of pussy is the root fucking cause of all global instability." Ray continues his monologue by squarely talking over Colbert, obviously entirely unimpressed by Doc's threat, which in turn impresses Evan. Either the man is a lot braver than Evan thought, or a lot dumber. It doesn't seem wise to keep provoking Doc Bryan like that. "If more Hajjis were getting quality pussy, there'd be no reason for us to come over here and fuck them up like this-"

"Ray." Colbert tries to get a word in edgewise, but he's not overly successful. 

"-cause a nut-busted Hajji is a happy Hajji." Ray concludes smugly, and Evan can't help finding his ideas rather entertaining while he's scribbling down more notes in the dark. It sure never gets boring with Ray around.

"Ray!" Colbert repeats more forcefully, and that manages to land him a sliver of Ray's attention, which he clearly knows to use right away before it deflagrates under the onslaught of Ray's motormouth condition. "How much Ripped Fuel have you ingested?"

"Six capsules since we left the staging area." Doc replies immediately without ever looking away from where he's watching his sector, then he gives an irritated huff. "That makes about two more than can be considered even _remotely_ safe for a nine-hour window."

"Yeah, I'm on it like a motherfucker, Brad!" Ray laughs in a way that seems more than a little maniac to Evan. 

"You're on it like a fucking retard trying to deep fry the remainder of his brain into a soggy vegetable." Doc comments deadpan and for once he doesn't get ignored. Not that it makes things any better.

"Nah, homes." Ray waves his hand as if to wipe away Doc's objection and then pipes cheerfully, "I'm moto, dude!"

Doc just snorts. "Seems you're already more than halfway to the point of no return for the soggy vegetable."

Colbert gives Ray what seems to be a stern look, not that Evan can see it properly from the back seat and the little illumination coming from the Blue Force Tracker. "Ray, no more of that shit. When you do Ripped Fuel, you can't shut up."

"He can _never_ shut up." Doc states rather drily from his seat. "I'm still all for the duct tape. It's the ultimate solution to all of our problems."

Doc's suggestion is followed by an unexpected moment of silence, but it's interrupted when the radio crackles to life again, this time with a voice Evan can't place because it's so distorted. At least he's sure it's not Fick. _"All Hitman victors, all Hitman victors, be advised you are three klicks south of Breach Point Two. Over."_

"It's an interesting theory though, that it all comes down to lack of pussy." Evan says after another moment of silence filling the Humvee because he can't quite resist the temptation to hear more. Even with NVGs the look that Doc throws him around Gabe's legs is almost enough to burn Evan to a cinder right there on the spot and he's pretty sure Doc would have rather forcefully kicked his shin if the platform for the main gunner wasn't blocking his access to Evan's legs. Oh oh, at some point Doc will probably make him pay for prompting Ray to continue talking. 

"Yeah. Yeah, you should quote me on it. You know what? You should _definitely_ quote me on it." Ray enthusiastically continues his twisted train of thought. "This whole fucking thing, it comes down to pussy. Look, if you took the Republican Guard and comped their asses in Vegas for a weekend, no fucking war."

Doc snorts derisively. "Yeah, how about we build a second Las Vegas _here_ instead? They've already got the desert atmosphere and the fucking insane temperatures, and the journey would be a lot shorter."

"Oh fuck, that's brilliant, Doc!" Ray cheers, clearly ignoring that Doc meant that comment in a sarcastic way. "I knew you weren't entirely useless!"

"I'm greatly honoured." Doc replies drily.

"You should be! You could be the reason we solve this entire Middle East conflict forever and ever!" Ray jabbers on, obviously enthralled with the idea. "We should name it 'Bryan City' in your honour and make a slogan for it, like 'Come to get fucked, leave happy', or 'City of Love, Lust and Luck'."

Doc snorts again. "Yeah, no. _Definitely_ no."

"So the war's not about oil or WMDs?" Evan just has to ask, because this is getting outlandish even by Ray's heavily skewed standards. 

"No. In the opinion of this Marine it's about pussy." Ray states firmly and leaves no doubt about the fact that his opinion is the _only_ correct opinion.

Evan can't quite contain a disbelieving chuckle. "And it's not about Saddam?"

"No, Saddam's just part of the problem." Ray argues loudly and gestures forcefully with his right hand, again only keeping one hand on the wheel. Evan can read the growing irritation in Doc's body language as clearly as if he'd said it out loud, and even Colbert seems to be growing impatient. "Look, if Saddam invested more in the pussy infrastructure of Iraq than he did on his fucking gay-ass army, then this country would be no more fucked up than, say, Mexico."

"Person, shut the fuck up already!" Doc Bryan somehow manages to explode without actually raising his voice, which Evan finds rather impressive. "Seriously, you're the most annoying little shit I've ever encountered!"

Ray doesn't accept that without giving as good as he gets. "And you're-" 

"Ray! Doc! Please _shut up_. Both of you." Colbert finally seems to have enough, because he actually sounds like he'd love to chuck both Ray and Doc Bryan out of his vehicle. They seem to pick up on that too, because they both actually remain quiet even after a few seconds, and Colbert adds, "Thank you."

Again the radio activates and interrupts the silence, and this time it's Fick's voice coming through. _"All Hitman Two victors, we are one klick until Breach Two."_

"Look at that, we're finally starting the invasion." Colbert remarks under his breath, the irony plain in his voice. He's not addressing anybody in particular, but Ray obviously feels that those words are a prompt for him to continue talking. 

"Well, if you want to be all technical and shit, we're not really _starting_ the invasion because since we've been here in the nineties already it's more like a re-invasion, so to say, than an entirely new-"

Doc Bryan doesn't bother to stifle his irritated growl. "Person, I swear on the battalion colours, if you don't _shut the fuck up_ , I will use that duct tape and create a _very_ tight seal on your mouth that will hold fast for days and peel you raw like a Brazilian wax when you pull it off!"

As if to reinforce his threat, Doc pulls with one hand on the duct tape roll so that it unwinds a bit with an audible and oddly menacing scratching noise.

"I'm driving, Doc! If you assault me now, I'll just crash us into the next ditch!" Ray threatens right back without missing a beat. "Boom, baby!"

"I sincerely advise you against doing that, Ray." Colbert warns from his seat next to Ray, and his voice is quiet but all the more cutting for it.

"But he's threatening to duct tape my mouth shut!"

Colbert turns to face Ray, and Evan can see that he has cocked one eyebrow. "I would do it myself, but Doc has the duct tape."

"I'm willing to share." Doc offers magnanimously. 

"Thank you, Doc."

"Oi! That's not nice, Bradley!" Ray complains loudly. "You're the TL, you're not supposed to take sides!"

"Shut up and I won't have to." Colbert offers pointedly, and for a moment Ray is actually quiet. Evan wonders how long it's going to last this time. Maybe even until they've crossed the breach point. He almost starts to believe it when Ray suddenly begins singing. 

" _Nobody loves me, nobody cares-_ "

"For fuck's sake, Ray, no country music!" Colbert shouts immediately.

" _-if life is empty and full of tears..._ "

"You want the duct tape, Brad?" Doc offers casually.

Colbert just sighs audibly while Evan decides that maybe having both Ray and Doc Bryan in the same Humvee isn't _that_ bad after all. It's bound to give him plenty of stuff to write about. Evan passes his fingertips over the pages full of pencil notes indented into the paper and gently shakes his head. If he includes _that_ in the article - especially the exact wording of it - people will accuse him of making it up, of fabricating stuff to make his article more sensationalist and scandalous to get more people to buy it. Nobody will _ever_ believe that this is _an actual conversation_ in a _real life, non-scripted situation_ between highly trained, professional _Recon Marines_ on their _way to war_. He's not sure he's believing it himself, but he's hearing it right now, so it's hard to discount it as his overly active imagination. Not to mention that _this_ is not something he would ever have come up with. He's a reporter, not a comedian.

Another good side of having Ray and Doc in the Humvee is that it'll _definitely_ keep him from falling asleep even on long all-nighters. _Nobody_ can fall asleep while they are verbally massacring each other with gusto. Evan's not even sure that earplugs would help. Those two sure are devoted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I had _so much fun_ writing this! I hope you enjoyed it just as much! It was also tons of work because for me rewriting an existing scene while basically sticking to the dialogue takes a lot more effort than to write something entirely my own. So, did you like how it turned out?


	9. Tim POV

  


" _He's just a boy, and I'm just a girl..._ " Person begins to sing woefully off key and at the top of his lungs while the team leader meeting is winding down a few feet behind him.

Tim just rolls his eyes, turns away and wanders off before he does something he might regret. Like strangling Person after all, because he's _really_ aiming to provoke Tim into taking drastic measures. And Tim is slowly but steadily losing his patience. His hands downright _itch_ for the duct tape attached to the back of Person's seat.

The last thirty-six hours were tedious, to say the least. And Tim is not just referring to the fact that crossing the border into Iraq was almost a complete screw-up due to their incompetent company commander, or that they've been pushing through over fifty klicks of enemy territory without any kind of support for about seven hours straight with no sleep in over thirty hours. Those are things Tim is used to, that he can deal with. No, what's _really_ putting the cherry on the cake is that Person is so fucking hyped up on Ripped Fuel, dip and instant coffee crystals that he barely shuts up for more than two minutes at a time. He even manages to drive, maintain radio contact _and_ keep talking absolutely insane bullshit at the same time for hours on end. Tim's level of irritation and his subsequent aggression have been steadily increasing and by now he feels ready to do _anything_ to shut Person up, even if it's just for a few minutes. He's pretty sure that even Brad and Reporter wanted to strangle him at some point last night. Garza has the advantage of not hearing everything Person is sprouting because he's reasonably removed - _protected, safe_ \- in the turret.

The whole thing is made worse by the fact that pretty much _all the time_ Person is sitting right in front of Tim in their shitty Humvee, which means that his neck is always _so temptingly close_ to Tim's hands. It's almost perfectly situated for him to just reach forward, wrap his fingers around his throat and press down until it's blissfully quiet. Tim wouldn't kill him, no, but he'd cut off the blood flow to his brain by pressing down on the carotid, because that would keep Ray from talking and from being an annoying little shit - at least for a while. Pity that it would also keep him from driving. 

As if Person alone wasn't already bad enough, there then came the point when Brad actually joined in Person's insanity by screeching out shitty pop songs along with him. And 'screeching' is the only appropriate word - there's no way to describe the sounds they were making as singing. Maybe Tim should consider the liberal application of duct tape in Brad's case as well.

Tim can't help wondering if Person is an annoying shit on purpose. To a degree, at least, because there's no doubt that a decent part of his motormouth tendencies is due to his reaction to the stimulants he keeps ingesting in worrying quantities. And judging by the odd comment Brad made here and there over the past thirty-odd hours, Tim gathered that talking incessantly is one of the side effects Ripped Fuel has on Person - on par with the well known side effect of hyperactivity of ephedrine-based substances. Seems that Brad's already familiar with that. How the fuck he dared to get into the same victor with Person for this deployment when he already knew what was going to happen is beyond Tim. Maybe Brad's more unhinged than Tim ever thought, because there's no rational explanation why any _sane_ person would _voluntarily_ sit through this for weeks on end. Except maybe for Reporter, who gets more fodder for his article than he probably ever expected to get. And to be fair, the guy couldn't have known what lay in store for him when he signed up for riding with One Alpha.

Sometimes Tim gets the feeling that Person actively enjoys provoking him during their long spells in the Humvee when he knows Tim can neither escape him nor physically harm him - which only leaves verbal retribution. And after the past eighteen hours - since they left the staging area - Brad seems to almost have resigned to the fact that Tim and Person keep arguing back and forth with increasingly sharp words on Tim's part the longer it goes on. Whenever Brad tells them to shut up Tim would be more than happy to oblige, but sadly Person never manages to adhere to the imposed rule of silence for very long, which in turn means that Tim loses his patience again at some point - and then it's history repeating. 

Tim comes to a halt next to Rudy, who's busy cleaning his arms with baby wipes and who's watching Tim in that genuine way he has. "How're you holding up, brother? Your frown looks even darker than usual."

"I'm contemplating different ways to get Person to shut up. Strangulation or duct tape are my current favourites." Tim growls under his breath.

That actually makes Rudy chuckle, but there's a commiserating note to it. "I hear you, brother. I have been subjected to him in a similar condition before, so I understand your suffering."

"How did you cope with him?" Tim asks while he's watching Rudy discard the baby wipe in a prearranged garbage bag before he starts getting dressed. It reminds him that he'll have to check the burn on Person's face when they stop the next time. It seems to be healing okay, but Tim would rather know sooner than later if something is wrong with it, and he's still not sure that Person would actually come forward on his own with any potential issues. On top of that the aloe will help with the itching that Tim knows is about to get worse, so another round of ointment will make sure that Person is less distracted from driving by the urge to scratch his cheek, nose or forehead. 

"I focussed on his bright aura instead of his words, and that made his voice faint until it was no more than background noise." Rudy offers when he slips his t-shirt over his head and then pulls the MOPP suit's suspenders over his shoulders.

Tim snorts. "Yeah, I don't think that's going to work for me, Rudy."

"You have to concentrate on the good things to even out the bad, brother." Rudy advises him with a serene smile, and for a moment Tim _really_ envies him his composure and his positivity.

"I have a non-combatant reporter, a hyperactive, drugged-up motormouth and a pop-song screeching team leader in my victor. I have few good things to concentrate on, Rudy, except maybe for Garza being quiet in the turret."

"You will weather this storm too, warrior healer." Rudy offers and puts an encouraging hand on Tim's shoulder when he has pulled on his jacket and flak vest. "You have been through worse."

"Nobody says this can't still _get_ worse." Tim points out drily.

Rudy just laughs. "I love your positive outlook on the future, Tim."

"I'm true a ray of sunshine." Tim deadpans just as the LT gives the order to mount up. With a mixture of dread and resignation Tim gets back into his Humvee, closes the door and puts his M-16 in position to cover his sector. 

Yeah, he really has _ample_ opportunity to prove that he can deal with absolutely _anything_ , he thinks when Person slips into the driver's seat, still quietly singing under his breath. Sounds like another dreadful pop song. If Brad joins in again, maybe Tim can just strangle Brad, he's not driving, after all. Maybe that'll get Person to shut up for a minute or two. If not, there's still the duct tape.

If nothing else, it'll give Reporter a _fantastic_ story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment at the end of the team leader meeting when Tim is rolling his eyes and turning away is actually really in the series (ep. 1, starts ca. 52:40), in case you're interested to see it ^^ I love that moment so much, it's just so funny!


	10. Ray POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, writing Ray is always so much fun! And getting into his Ripped Fuel high mind is even more fun XD I hope you enjoy it, too!

  


"Ray, halt the victor off the MSR so that the other teams can align off us." Brad orders as soon as the LT's voice stops coming over the comms.

"Aye aye, homes." Ray replies with a grin and drives to the side of the road to stop the Humvee in the spot that he was taught to use for this specific manoeuvre. Their Humvee driving lessons may have been very short, but they at least tried to teach them the basics. On top of that Ray actually likes driving, even when it's a fucked-up piece of crap like this old battered Humvee.

As soon as they have stopped the Doc gets out of the victor and heads over to Two-Two's Humvee on the other side of the road where Rudy, Pappy and the LT are standing together. His movements are not as smooth as they usually are and Ray thinks he can see the barely suppressed anger practically radiate off him. 

Hmm, interesting. If Ray's not mistaken, the Doc is slowly approaching his boiling point. Not his breaking point, because Ray's not even sure he has one, but he most certainly has a boiling point. And Ray is steadily working towards it, although he has to admit that not all of that is purely on purpose. Some of it is genuinely just a side effect of the Ripped Fuel he's taking maybe a bit too liberally. Oh, and the instant coffee crystals might also play a role. Maybe the dip, too. And the lack of sleep helps things along on his _and_ Doc's part, he's sure of that. 

"Ray." Brad says into the sudden silence of the vehicle, and there's a tone to his voice that is in equal parts chiding and threatening. "If you break the Doc, I will be pissed." 

"I'm not trying to break him!" Ray protests immediately and turns to look at Brad with wide eyes that he hopes look innocent. 

"It certainly feels like you are." Brad retorts with a disapprovingly raised eyebrow. 

"Actually, I don't think he _can_ be broken." Ray decides to share his musings on that topic. It might interest Brad. "But I'm pretty sure he can boil over."

Ray hears a quickly suppressed snort coming from the backseat, which means that it can only be Reporter since Doc has already abandoned them. Brad doesn't seem to find it funny, though, because he only closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath as if to gather his inner strength, and then he opens them again and gives Ray _a look_. He's good at those.

"Ray, shut up, get out and resume a defensive position." Brad says without actually reacting to Ray's interesting musings, then he turns around to look over his shoulder. "Reporter, you stay in the vehicle. Garza, point the Mark-19 at the road and keep watch."

Ray knows when to not annoy Brad any more, so he does as he's told and gets out of the Humvee to take up position behind the hood with his M-4. He'd like to explain to Brad that he _really_ doesn't mean to actually make Doc boil over, although he's sure it would be a very interesting sight. A bit like throwing a few unknown chemicals together that are sure to ignite and then explode with unforeseeable consequences. Might be pretty, might be deadly, the only thing that is certain is that it's going to be very interesting. But Ray knows Brad's not willing to listen to him right now, so he decides to postpone that conversation to later. He will get his chance to explain - the invasion is _far_ from over, after all. 

Ray glances over to where the Doc is now standing with Rudy, Pappy and the LT, his M-16 held by his side and his posture already a little less tense than it was a few minutes ago when he stalked away from the Humvee. 

Okay, so maybe Ray's just generally a teensy-tinsy bit high and he is well aware that his mouth can't stop running a mile a minute when he's high because his thoughts are bouncing around his skull like a headless chicken chasing its head based on what the eyes of its cut-off head can see, all the while the dumb chicken is still thinking that its head is still attached to its throat; and Ray has so many headless-chicken-thoughts chasing each other all at once that he needs to get at least a portion of them out there to remain even remotely sane - okay, he may admit that 'sane' might not be the most appropriate choice of words here - and if he doesn't say those random thoughts out loud then he'll just explode. Or implode, depending on how you look at it. Either way, it'll make 'boom'. Ray would admit that this is _not_ the best condition to be in during an invasion of a hostile country if another effect of the stimulants wasn't that razor-sharp focus he gets in combination with that feeling of exuberant energy that keeps him going long beyond his physical limits - which is _exactly_ what he needs during an invasion of a hostile country. 

But there's even more. Ray's already naturally good at multitasking, but when he's flying high on Ripped Fuel he's so quick with his thoughts that it feels like everything else is moving in slow motion, which gives him so much more time to notice things and react to them. And he doesn't even feel how tired and downright exhausted he is as long as they're on the road. It's the breaks he dreads, actually, because while he might be crashing from the stimulants, that doesn't necessarily mean that he can actually get his body to sleep in order to recharge. Just because the body is exhausted doesn't mean that his brain shuts up. And that's even true _without_ Ripped Fuel. Obviously, _with_ Ripped Fuel it's even worse. So the only solution is to keep going and going and going. And yes, he knows that's not sustainable for all eternity, but it doesn't have to be. Just long enough to make it through this deployment. 

He's still rather surprised and maybe also a bit bewildered that the Doc hasn't reported Ray's blatant substance abuse yet, or at least took appropriate steps to prevent him from continuing to take Ripped Fuel - because the Doc _knows_ that Ray is taking it, he's sitting _right behind_ Ray when he does. He probably knows down to the pill how high Ray's dose is at any given time, along with how many times Ray dips within a twenty-four hour period and how many handfuls of Nescafé he puts in his mouth. Yeah, Ray's pretty sure the Doc keeps entire rows of statistics about that in his mind. And sure, he has warned Ray several times to cut down on the amount of Ripped Fuel he's ingesting, but he not once outright forbade him to take it. Now that is interesting, but also kind of disconcerting because it keeps Ray on his toes. He can't imagine that the Doc is actually fine with anybody consuming stuff like Ripped Fuel, so Ray's still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

That's the moment his musings are interrupted by two white pickups racing down the road towards their position, and every single Marine immediately resumes a firing position, their barrels pointed towards the two victors. Out of the corner of his eye Ray sees Doc get in position next to Rudy and Pappy, and Ray can't help his gaze flickering over to him for a split second because damn, Doc's _fucking hot_ when he's operating his M-16 and so blatantly shows the warrior part of his warrior healer persona. Ray sure can appreciate a sexy guy expertly handling a sexy firearm.

Wait... He didn't really think that just now, did he? 

Fuck, maybe Ray's a bit more high than he thought he is. Not that Ray has never fucked a guy before. He has. More than once. Nothing wrong with that. It's not the dick part he has issues with, it's the Doc part.

Because this is _Doc_ we're talking about. _The Doc_. Who'd choke Ray before he'd ever even _consider_ touching him in a sexual manner. Obviously Ray means deadly choking, not sexy choking. Just in case somebody didn't get that. Because there's a difference. A _big_ difference. _Humongous._

"We should smoke 'em, sir!" Ray hears Doc's voice echo clearly over the screeching breaks of the Iraqi victors. Doc has one of those voices that _really_ carry when he wants to be heard, but usually he speaks in quiet and measured tones that even range to low and gravelly. He rarely gets loud, which means that it has even more of an effect when he does. Ray wonders if he cultivates that effect on purpose or if it comes naturally to him. 

Ray keeps half of his attention trained on the two victors that he's pointing his M-4 at, and the other half follows the things happening by Two-Two's Humvee, where the LT is obviously on the radio with Encino Man to find out how they're supposed to deal with this situation. It doesn't seem to be going too well according to his facial expressions, and Ray finds that assumption confirmed when the LT fucking _waves off_ the two vehicles full of _armed_ Iraqis. Seriously, what the fuck?

Ray lowers his M-4 in profound disappointment, and before he can help it, his gaze wanders over to Two-Two's Humvee again. Doc remains in his firing stance until the Iraqi pickups have moved well out of the range of his weapon and Ray finds himself thinking that the Doc will admittedly kill him before he'd ever kiss him, but that doesn't change the fact that he _is_ fucking hot with his goddamn M-16 at the ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who else finds Doc very very sexy in that scene in ep. 1 when they're encountering the two pickups? Anybody? *is curious*


	11. Kocher POV

  


For a few seconds Eric lets his gaze travel along the train tracks and over the countless tired, sore-footed men stumbling along it like zombies. Then he squares his shoulders and takes the pair of latex gloves that Tim's holding out to him in a wordless prompt to help him with the steadily increasing number of people needing treatment. 

"Where do you want me, Tim?" Eric asks when he has finished putting on the gloves.

"You check on the new arrivals and sort them depending on injuries. I'll begin treating those ones here." Tim replies and gestures at the men sitting in a more or less orderly line in front of him. They're the ones that have been checked for weapons and were found to be unarmed. 

Tim is aware of how to best utilise Eric because he knows that Eric is very well trained in basic trauma care - because Tim is the one who taught him during the many and sometimes long lulls in action when they were deployed to Afghanistan. Tim's also the reason why the guys on Eric's team are all wearing their Delta tourniquets around their necks - it's one of the lessons he really drilled into Eric's head, and Eric makes sure it gets passed on. At least in his own team he has the authority to force the men to do it, even if the other teams don't listen to reason. Sadly not every platoon is blessed with such a dedicated corpsman who's very much willing and capable to play hardball.

Eric has known Tim for about three years now, and ever since that tour to Afghanistan about two years ago under Brad's command they're also friends outside the job. Eric is glad to know Tim along for this tour because it already promises to be a shitty one. They may not be on the same platoon this time around, but since Second and Third Platoon are cooperating a lot they get to work side by side anyway.

"These guys can't walk." Tim says to nobody in particular while he's checking the feet of the men sitting in the sand in front of him. The nearby artillery impacts make the Iraqis flinch and cover their heads while none of the Marines even react to them. A second later Eric hears his radio come to live and he passes on the news that there were artillery hits near Alpha's position. He's just about to return to the duties Tim assigned him when a stray dog wanders into their perimeter and triggers Captain America in another one of his insanity driven episodes. 

"Shoot that dog, Corporal!" Captain America shouts at Darnold who happens to be standing closest to him. Fortunately Darnold knows better than to open fire in a situation like this, especially without warning and for no good reason. It has the potential of ending in a bloodbath, something that the dear Captain clearly doesn't get.

"Sir, shouldn't we be saving our rounds for enemy combatants?" Eric tries to defuse the situation as best as he can without openly disobeying his fucking incompetent platoon commander.

Of course the idiot doesn't want to take the helping hand. Not that Eric is surprised. "Shoot that fucking dog!" 

"Darnold, give it a piece of your jerky." Eric says instead and makes it a point not to look away from Captain America. He knows that Darnold will follow his order instead of McGraw's, which is a relief because this shit could become very dangerous very quickly. Captain America storms off when he realises that he has just been overruled by his own sergeant, and Eric sighs in frustration as he returns to his corpsman-assigned duties. He really wishes that he had been placed in Second Platoon, he's a lot closer to those guys than the ones he's assigned to now - not to mention that he'd _love_ to exchange fucking Captain America for Lieutenant Fick. Oh, how heavenly it would be to serve under Fick's command instead of that manic coward lunatic. Well, sadly there's nothing he can do about that. 

"I see you have your own set of personnel troubles." Tim notes in a dry voice without ever stopping in his work.

"You could say that. They need to fucking reassign that position to somebody with a properly functioning brain." Eric growls, and it feels good to say that out loud to somebody who he knows can be trusted with such outright insubordinate comments. "And who's your personnel trouble?"

Tim snorts next to him, and it's more an aggressive than an amused sound. "Person. He's so fucking jacked up on stimulants that he never shuts up. On our way here he called out every single fucking flip-flop on the side of the road. He was just one step removed from giving them names and arranging for a proper burial."

Eric chuckles at the image Tim is drawing in his mind. He's not that close with Ray, but he certainly knows him well enough to easily see him doing what Tim is describing.

"And when Brad finally lost his patience - took him long enough in my humble opinion - and he told Person in no uncertain terms to shut his goddamn piehole - and I'm quoting here - Person got his precious feelings hurt and decided to make Brad regret his harsh but frankly absolutely justified words by driving like a fucking lunatic. He jerked the wheel in completely unnecessary sudden turns and randomly pumped the brakes so that we all were thrown around the fucking Humvee like rag dolls until Brad grovelled at his feet for forgiveness. Don't get me wrong, I may not particularly like Person, but he's a damn good driver, he doesn't do shit like that by accident. He does it very much on purpose."

Eric can't help the rather loud snort that escapes him. Maybe he's not the only one with problems, and that feels oddly good. It's also quite amusing that Person manages to make Tim break out in a genuine rant, something he's usually only prone to when it concerns seriously fucked-up political or humanitarian topics, certainly not his fellow Recon Marines. They simply don't manage to get under his skin enough to prompt such a reaction.

"Yeah, you're laughing now, Eric, but I swear if _you_ had been sitting behind him in that damn Humvee, you'd have put him in a choke hold just to get him to shut up. Or stabbed him through his seat. Or broken his neck."

Eric finds himself grinning while he's quickly looking over the newest Iraqi found unarmed to check if there are any potentially grave injuries other than sore feet. "Sounds like you've thought about it quite a bit."

Tim shrugs and keeps wrapping the foot of one of the Iraqis. "I may have extensively contemplated the many potential ways of doing it."

"Did it bring you any satisfaction?" Eric enquires while he makes the new arrival sit down in line with the other men.

"Well, at least it distracted me from actually doing it." Tim replies with a little smirk that Eric is tempted to call evil. Eric still wonders who the fuck thought that it would be a good idea to assign Tim and Ray to the same team knowing that they'd have to spend hours on end jammed into the same Humvee. It can only have been somebody who doesn't know either of them.

"Oh, my God. This is sweet! Check it out! They got their own Fruity Rudy." Ray's amused voice echoes over to them as if on cue, and Eric looks up just in time to see Ray escort a young Iraqi over to Chaffin and Lilley while pointedly waving the guy's wallet around. Chaffin takes it and looks at something inside, probably a picture of some kind, then he shouts over the entire area, "Hey, we captured a fucking gay Iraqi!"

Lilley, who's walking around with his video camera filming the entire thing, turns on the scene immediately. "Yo, hold that turd-pusher up!"

Eric watches how Ray and Chaffin turn the poor guy around until all three of them are in the sights of Lilley's camera, then Ray grips the man's face and leans in as if to kiss him on the cheek. 

"Fo shizzle, a gay-ass Hajji." Lilley comments enthusiastically and keeps filming. 

Eric notices that Tim stopped working in order to check what's going on, and now he's throwing Person and Chaffin an angry glare while he's getting to his feet. Not that they're noticing because they're too distracted by the novelty of capturing a gay Iraqi, as if nationality and sexual orientation are in any way mutually exclusive. 

Eric knows that Tim is bisexual, has known it for years. He found out about it by chance a few months after their tour to Afghanistan under Brad's command, when Eric and Tim met up for a camping trip when they were both on leave and spent it home in Pennsylvania. He'd noticed instantly how bad Tim looked, drawn and coiled and _hurt_ in a way he'd never seen even under the worst of circumstances. At the end of their first day of hiking and after one of the precious beers they'd dragged with them specifically to enjoy by the campfire in the evenings, Tim had told him that he'd had a rather bad breakup just a few days before their trip. He left it at that, and Eric respected his wish not to talk about it.

Only on the third evening did Eric resolve to put some gentle pressure on Tim because he could tell that Tim really needed to get it off his chest. Whatever had happened was eating him alive even if he never complained about it. It seemed to Eric that Tim really wanted to talk but for some reason he didn't, and only after Eric offered to swear on his honour as a Recon Marine that he would never breathe a word of what they talked about during this camping trip did Tim tell him that it was actually his _boyfriend_ of five years who'd broken up with him. The guy who he'd been with for two years before he even signed up to become a corpsman and who now finally had enough of having to hide because of DADT, especially in combination with fearing for Tim's life for months on end while knowing that he'd never even get told if something happened to Tim, that he wouldn't be allowed to see Tim, that every time he even wrote or talked to Tim he was basically endangering Tim's career and his life. 

To Eric it seemed that what hit Tim the hardest about it was that his boyfriend hadn't broken up with him because his feelings for Tim had changed, but because he couldn't take the emotional toll of the secrecy anymore that DADT forced on them. And Eric could tell that Tim didn't blame him for it either, he even told Eric that he'd been able to see for almost two years how negatively it impacted on his boyfriend. Tim looked utterly lost when he recounted how his boyfriend ended things with the words that he loved Tim too much to ever make him choose between him and his dream, so he'd make the choice for him. Tim even said that he knew that splitting up was the right thing to do, and that the only right thing for Tim to do was to let his boyfriend go because he really loved him and wanted him safe and sound and happy, even if that meant that he wouldn't be with Tim. Eric still remembers how rough with anger, pain and regret Tim's voice was when he told Eric that he'd lost one of the best things in his life - his partner, his rock, his safe haven - because of a fucking discriminatory policy. And how he had nobody to blame for it other than himself, because he'd enlisted knowing about it - just that in the end it proved far more destructive than Tim had expected.

Ever since that camping trip they've grown into genuinely close friends, and they've supported each other through the highs and lows on the job as well as in their private lives. Tim was there to have Eric's back when he decided to propose to his girlfriend Jamie, and he served as Eric's best man at their wedding a few months after the camping trip. And Eric was there when Tim found a girlfriend here and a male hook-up there, but he noticed that Tim refrained from ever having anything serious again with a guy, well aware that it would put him in the same position again as with his ex-boyfriend. 

After years of being friends with Tim, Eric also knows that he doesn't take kindly to genuine ill-treatment because of sexual orientation - or race, or religion, or skin colour, or any other kind of distinction that people love to use as a reason to discriminate. Tim's not bothered by the constant homophobic ribbing that's so common in the Marines, Eric knows that he doesn't take it personal in the least and that he has too thick a skin to ever react to those slurs and offhand comments. But this here is different. What Ray, Chaffin and Lilley are doing right now could lead to a seriously dangerous and abusive situation - either from other Marines who take it too far, or from those Iraqis who understand enough English to know what is being said about the young guy. For a moment Eric wonders if Tim will step in if things get out of hand. He certainly looks like he's ready to intervene, and Eric prepares to back him up should it become necessary.

Before it can even become a possibility, though, Godfather approaches their position and that effectively shuts down any further comment about 'the gay Iraqi'. Eric watches and listens to what the officers are saying, and when Godfather orders Fick to 'unsurrender' the Iraqis he knows that Tim will not just sit back and accept that. True to his expectation Tim walks over to where Fick, Wynn, Brad and Poke are standing together looking at Godfather's retreating form with clear unease in their gazes. He listens to Tim's frustrated reference to their obligations according to the Geneva Convention and he can easily see the helpless anger raging in Tim at the orders they were just given.

Eric would never describe Tim as an idealist - far from it, he has seen too much of the real, gritty world to have maintained that kind of naivety. But Tim's still one of those genuinely decent guys who want to do the right thing despite the fact that they know that the world is corrupt and fucked-up. Tim never stops trying, it's why he enlisted, it's why he's a corpsman instead of a Recon Marine, it's why he's here. 

And now he's witnessing their own leaders - who're supposed to be better than that - disregard the rules so blatantly. They're so easily dismissing fundamental international agreements like the Geneva Convention when it doesn't fit into their plans that their disregard for human life couldn't be more blatant. Eric can see that it enrages Tim while at the same time it doesn't really surprise him either. But he clearly hates it and despises command for it, and he hates it even more that he has to obey those despicable, inhumane orders. Command knows that they're sending those Iraqis straight into the arms of waiting death squads, and yet they still do it, with no signs of scruples at all.

Eric understands Tim perfectly. He's also pretty sure that things will get a lot worse in the weeks to come. The way this war is starting out is certainly not a good omen.

Yeah, the world really _is_ fucked-up. Especially here - and they're stuck smack in the middle of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested where the idea for Tim's reaction in the gay-Iraqi scene came from, watch it again and pay attention to him. Tim is really following the whole thing and looks like he's about to step in right before Godfather appears on the scene. I find that rather interesting. Do you have any opinions on that? *curious*


	12. Reporter POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now it gets interesting... ;D

  


They're on their way to the town of Nasiriyah when they dig in for the night by the side of the road. They're told that they're on twenty-five percent watch, which Evan learns means that only one man of Team One has to stand watch while the other three get to sleep. Right now it's Ray's turn to keep watch, as far as Evan can tell, because he knows that Brad is off to talk to Lieutenant Fick and he can see Gabe lying in a ranger grave not far from the one Doc Bryan is already sleeping in. 

It's the first actual sleep they're getting in almost three days, and Evan feels the need for it like lead resting on his various body parts, especially his eyelids. That first night by the train tracks they didn't actually get to sleep, not just because of the masses of deserting Iraqi soldiers wandering up and past their position, but also because it began raining and their ranger graves transformed into cold, clammy mud pits. And last night, when they hunkered down by the side of a canal, they spent the hours watching the huge numbers of Iraqis moving along on the other side of the canal only separated from them by the muddy water, probably fleeing from the American bombing that was going on in the background. 

Now that Evan has finished digging his ranger grave beside the road - as always it took him much longer than the Marines - he is ready to sleep for a week. He did in fact nod off a few times throughout the day since it was a slow one that they spent stuck in traffic on the highway with thousands of other troops moving north. But it wasn't actual sleep, more like moments of dozing that he jerked out off whenever the Humvee moved, and it left him even more exhausted. He's infinitely glad that he'll get to properly lie down now, even if it's under the open sky of an increasingly cold night and in a shallow hole in the ground that suspiciously resembles the grave that its name alludes to. He doesn't care about any of that, the only thing that matters is that he'll get to _sleep_. He's out only minutes after he has gotten as comfortable as is possible given the circumstances.

At first Evan isn't sure what woke him and he's disoriented and groggy, but then he becomes aware of a sound somewhere not too far behind him. It takes him a moment to identify it as the constant rustling of clothes, and after a few seconds he realises that it's caused by somebody shivering rather strongly. Combined with the odd shaky breath and chattering of teeth that he can hear he gathers that somebody of the team is trying to sleep but is also _very very_ cold. Evan makes it a point not to react in any way that would show that he's awake, because he's pretty sure that whoever is shivering like that won't appreciate 'the Reporter' noticing. He can't fall asleep again either, though, because the noise is distracting and he really wants to help, but he knows there's nothing he can do without making things worse.

After a few minutes of the noise not easing but actually getting worse, Evan hears a little huff that still manages to express a world of long-suffering annoyance. Then Doc Bryan's voice echoes over to Evan, but it's so quiet that he has to strain to hear it despite the fact that they're sleeping not even five feet apart. "Get over here, Person." 

"I'm okay." Ray replies in an equally quiet voice, but there's a little tremor to it that tells Evan that it's Ray who is shivering from the cold.

Doc huffs again, the annoyance now plain in his voice. "You're fucking shivering like a drenched cat left outside at the height of winter." 

"I'm good, Doc." Ray repeats and obviously makes an effort to keep the tremor out of his voice this time.

"Don't try to bullshit me, Person." Doc Bryan hisses still in that very low voice that barely carries but nonetheless instils an immediate sense of authority in Evan, and he's sure it works on Ray, too. "I've done your medical exam and I know your fucking file by heart just like everybody else's, so I know perfectly well that you were bordering on underweight already before the deployment, and on top of that you're burning what little fat reserves you have by taking that shit all the time. So shut up and get over here so that you're at least warm enough to sleep for the few short hours we have. If you crash the Humvee because you're too cold to sleep and too damn proud to accept help, I will fucking kill you myself."

"Okay, Doc." Ray replies in a voice that sounds amused and at the same time appropriately chided. Evan is pretty sure Ray is the only person on the planet who can manage to pull off that combination. 

There's some movement, more rustling of clothes, earth crunching under boots, again rustling of clothes, a moment of silence, then somebody shifts again. Evan lies still and listens intently, and after a few minutes the noises of Ray's shivering subside.

"Better?" Doc Bryan asks in a very low voice.

"Hmmm." Ray just hums his agreement, obviously not willing to bother with words.

"Good. Then go to sleep now."

"Aye aye, sir." Ray sounds sleepy, yet Evan can hear the smirk in his voice. "Being the little spoon in a ranger grave is a lot warmer than I remembered."

"Shut up and sleep, Person." Doc repeats, but to Evan it seems like there's a faint hint of amusement tingeing his tone.

It's quiet again, and after what feels like at least ten minutes Evan can't resist his curiosity any longer. He opens his eyes and very carefully props himself up on his elbows, pretending to be reaching for his water bottle just in case the other two men aren't asleep again. He peeks over at where they're lying in the ranger grave behind him, and he's surprised at what he sees despite knowing what to expect.

Ray is lying on his side and Doc is pressed up against his back from head to toe, one arm wrapped around Ray's waist to pull him close so that they both fit into the narrow grave. They're not wearing their helmets, and Ray has pulled his neck gaiter up over his nose. Doc's face is mostly buried in the hood of Ray's MOPP suit while his head is covered by his ubiquitous camo bandana. He's curled around Ray's smaller frame in a way that seems oddly protective to Evan, and they look strangely comfortable for two people who Evan knows from _extensive_ personal experience don't get along very well when awake.

When his curiosity has been satisfied for the moment and Evan lies back down to return to sleep, he wonders if this rather unexpected development means that maybe the aggressive bickering that tends to fill the Humvee will ease up a bit. He doesn't quite dare to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my inspiration for the sharing-body-heat thing. It's one of the cutest pics ever, don't you agree? A genuine puppy pile XD
> 
>   
> (As far as I know, it's a Swedish unit in Afghanistan)  
> 


	13. Tim POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, due to the timing of the posting this chapter I wish you all a great day and lots of biscuits and hot chocolate, whether you celebrate Christmas or not :D Now go have fun with more Tim/Ray ^_^

  


"Tim. Wake up. It's your watch." Brad's quiet, calm voice and the hand squeezing his shoulder cut into Tim's sleep and pull him out of it immediately, but without alarming him. 

Tim is well aware that Brad always calls him by his first name to wake him up when he wants to make sure that Tim knows that he's not woken for a medical emergency. It's one of those little considerate things that Brad does with his men that make him such an excellent team leader, and Tim greatly appreciates that he can wake up without instantly jumping to high alert as he would if addressed with 'Doc' when somebody shakes him out of sleep. 

Even before he has opened his eyes Tim becomes aware of the heavy warmth resting against his front from head to feet. It reminds him instantly that he made Person sleep in his ranger grave to share body heat - and that explains why Brad is so unusually quiet and careful about waking him. Because when Tim moves to get out of the grave he realises that Person is miraculously still out for the count, and it seems that Brad wants to keep it that way for as long as possible. Tim sure agrees with him on that matter and makes sure to jostle Person as little as possible when he eases himself out of the narrow hole in the ground. 

When Tim looks up he finds Brad watching him with a pensive expression on his face before he gives Tim a quick nod and moves to lie down in his own grave. Tim's glad that he obviously doesn't intend to say anything about the fact that he found Tim and Person in the same ranger grave. Sharing body heat is in and of itself not a big deal, combat cuddling is so common when it gets cold that it's not even worth mentioning - what makes it exceptional is that Tim and Person usually clearly don't get along, and that's never been a secret. Tim doesn't say anything either when he takes his M-16, his kevlar and his NVGs and moves around to the back of the Humvee to take over the position Brad occupied before. He crouches down and throws a quick glance at his wristwatch before he puts on his kevlar and activates the NVGs to resume the observation of the village close by the road. So far everything's been quiet, but they have to be careful.

It's 2334 hours, and Tim can't quite believe that he spent just a little over three hours asleep considering how genuinely rested he feels. Fuck, he hasn't slept that well in ages, and certainly not since they rolled out of Matilda. He feels energised and his mind is sharp and clear in a very satisfying way, something that only comes from proper sleep and never from artificial stimulants. 

The only thing that's disconcerting about it is that he's well aware that the only major difference to all the other nights is that he slept pressed against _Person_ of all people. Maybe it was the additional warmth that helped to ward off the chill of the freezing night, and that's why he slept so well. It certainly seems to have worked wonders for Person's ability to sleep, something he's not particular good at considering how much Ripped Fuel he's consuming on a more or less constant basis. Add to the mix the quite substantial amount of dip he keeps shoving in his mouth and the odd handful of Nescafé crystals that he eats and you have a mixture that is as highly stimulating as it is poisonous for the body in the long run.

Tim knows that Person's shivering tonight was not just caused by the cold. Person is a fucking Recon Marine, he can deal with a little cold air, he has gone through worse than the current night temperatures. Every Recon Marine has. No, the shivering was caused mostly by the onset of Person crashing from his stimulant consumption of the day. Considering that ephedrine-based substances like Ripped Fuel achieve their effects by promoting thermogenesis, crashing from them means that the receptiveness to the cold is augmented, and on top of that it increases one major side effect of the pills: Tremors, which is the most obvious one in Person's case. It doesn't exactly help that Ripped Fuel's main goal is to burn fat, which Person has way too little of to begin with, because that makes him even more susceptible to extreme shivering and decreases his ability to withstand external cold temperatures without the aid of ephedrine. 

Truth is, Tim didn't actually offer him body heat to stop the shivering, but to keep him from taking another dose of Ripped Fuel to take the edge off. Person never would have been able to sleep then, that much is certain, and Tim knows that Person's body desperately needs every single hour of _actual_ sleep it can possibly get. Taking Ripped Fuel bears a risk of a multitude of side effects of varying degrees, everything from headaches and increased blood pressure to insomnia, or worse even palpitations up to severe tachycardia or even heart attack or stroke - and that's just the immediate physical side effects, not accounting for the mental ones like anxiousness, paranoia, mood swings and hyperactivity, some of which Person is clearly already exhibiting. Getting at least a minimum of rest is essential to keep Person from going under.

Tim lets his gaze roam over the village, the grainy green hues of the NVGs shaping the picture he gets. Still quiet. Just like the ranger graves somewhere behind him beside the Humvee, which means that all of his teammates are still asleep - even Person. Good.

Because if Person keeps it up like this, he'll burn out _long_ before they reach Baghdad. Of all of the men in his care, Tim is actually most worried about Person. Not that the others aren't popping stimulants like candy - yes, he's very much aware of it, and he has a rough estimate for each of their consumption levels - but none of them is overdoing it to the degree Person is. Tim is almost one hundred percent certain by now that it really is the additional strain and the heavy responsibility of being the driver of the lead vehicle as well as the RTO that makes Person take uppers pretty much all the time. He's scared shitless of being the one to get his brothers killed because he's not alert enough, because he's exhausted, because he's distracted by fatigue. Not that he's actually showing his fear, but Tim can tell from his actions. It's not the first time he observes that in a guy thrust into a position loaded with responsibility for others, after all. Tim has served with many units in his time.

After another careful pass over the village and its surroundings Tim switches off the NVGs to spare their precious few batteries. He folds the device back up on his kevlar and resumes his position to watch the area. 

He will have to find a way to reduce the amount of uppers Person takes without actually taking them from him, which would only make the situation worse. Tim can't in any way officially know about that stuff, which also means he can't have it in his possession - if the higher-ups found out that he in his function as the corpsman knew about the men taking banned substances, it would not only have serious consequences for him, but for them, too. So he has to make Person _need_ less of that shit, and a good method to achieve that is to force him to sleep - _really_ sleep - whenever the opportunity arises. 

So yes, Person annoys the shit out of Tim when he's awake, but considering how Person is still asleep now - in what must be his second or third hour - _and_ how well-rested Tim feels after they slept huddled together, he's willing to admit that it might actually be a way to kill two birds with one stone. He gets Person to actually sleep, and - even if he doesn't like saying it - Person makes for a pretty good pillow. And Tim knows better than to question a good thing in the middle of a war zone. He'll just take it and make use of it, because being rested is essential for functioning properly. Tim is well aware that they will both be more efficient and therefore of more use to the men if they're rested - not necessarily well rested, because that's simply not possible given the current circumstances, but at least _better_ rested. It's something.

Tim's distracted from his thoughts by a prickling sensation in his left eye that he only registers after a moment. There's a strange warmth in his eye that increases to an almost painful burning... _Fuck!_ Tim immediately closes his eyes because the only explanation for this phenomenon is that somebody - one of their own guys! - is painting him with an infrared-laser, which can easily burn his retinas beyond repair and blind him. Tim turns his head enough to not only disrupt the contact of the laser with his eye, but to also face who the fuck is aiming at him before they resolve to shoot him instead of just painting him.

"Fuck, Doc, it's you! I thought you were an enemy infiltrator." Tim hears a familiar voice say before he spots Casey Kasem approaching him with his M-16 aimed at Tim. "I almost shot you!"

"Yeah, don't I fucking know it." Tim grumbles under his breath and passes a hand over his eye, hoping that it didn't take any damage. He'd love to ask how the fuck he could possibly be mistaken for an Iraqi infiltrator with his Recon Marine uniform and the NVGs on his kevlar, while kneeling by one of their Humvees with his fucking _back_ turned towards the Marines and clearly observing the village on the other side of the road. That fucking idiot must have zero situational awareness, and he most certainly doesn't belong in a combat situation. 

Casey Kasem walks over to him while still pointing his M-16 at Tim, which makes Tim tense up and causes him to snap, "Could you _please_ stop aiming your fucking rifle at me?"

The moron doesn't say anything to that, but at least he _does_ lower the barrel so that it's not directed anywhere at Tim anymore. Tim _really_ doesn't want to get shot by an idiot who can't seem to remember the basic rules of how to handle a firearm. He wouldn't be surprised if Casey Kasem managed to shoot him by accident while talking to him. And considering that Tim is also the fucking corpsman, that would leave him in a very bad position. He can't exactly patch himself up if he's shot somewhere vital. 

Casey Kasem crouches down next to Tim and points at the village that Tim's been watching for quite a while by now, and Brad and Ray before him. "Over there! Enemy infiltrators."

"That's a village." Tim remarks drily.

"No. Over there." Casey Kasem sounds like he's excited and anxious at the same time when he waves the barrel of his rifle at an area a little further down the canal. "Looks like a squad-size group of Iraqis, maybe an RPG hunterkiller team observing us."

Tim rolls his eyes and just so refrains from a highly sarcastic reply. Sadly Casey Kasem still outranks him, even if he's a total fricking idiot who should never have been put in charge of anything, least of all within a Recon Marine Company in combat. "Those are fucking rocks. They’re not moving." 

"Not moving," Casey Kasem elaborates with barely suppressed superiority in his voice, "because those are the most disciplined Iraqis we’ve seen so far."

That's not even worth a reply, Tim decides. Because whatever he'll say next will most certainly get him NJP'd despite being Navy. Seriously, what a fucking imbecile. How the fuck did they end up with an entire bunch of incompetent morons as their leaders? Fick's the only good officer they have in Bravo Company, and _one_ good officer is not exactly a stellar quota. 

Casey Kasem is still completely convinced that they're in the sights of an RPG team even after Brad joins them and offers his judgement that is _of course_ identical with Tim's. Casey Kasem still sounds the alert and makes every single man in Bravo take a defensive position, which results in all of them _not_ sleeping and instead spending the night observing a bunch of fucking rocks. Person ends up lying on his stomach on the ground next to Tim with his NVGs in front of his face and his M-4 up, and Tim actually finds himself get angry at Casey Kasem for ruining Tim's efforts to get Person to sleep. Instead that fucking imbecile makes him stay awake for no good reason and down the line that will result in Person reverting to his beloved Ripped Fuel. Fucking great.

It's only after some time that Tim realises that Person is still quiet besides him, and has been for the entire time. And it's a comfortable silence, Person feels relaxed and at ease next to him, not like he's vibrating out of his skin like he usually is. He's not on Ripped-Fuel, Tim suddenly understands. For whatever reason, Person didn't take any Ripped Fuel yet since waking up. It's astonishing how differently he's comporting himself right now compared to what Tim got used to during their long hours in the Humvee. Tim knows perfectly well that substances like Ripped Fuel can have character-altering effects, but seeing the extent of it first hand on Person is quite educational. Almost enlightening.

Casey Kasem _finally_ believes them about the rocks not being Iraqi RPG teams when the sun begins to rise and illuminates the canal, proving that they were right all along. When they finally terminate their utterly useless surveillance, Tim can't help thinking that Person may be annoying as fuck when he's high on Ripped Fuel, but even then he's not an incompetent moron like Casey Kasem, and after tonight Tim may even appreciate Person a little more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want to give me a wee Christmas gift? I'd _love_ to get a wee word about how you like the fic/chapter - best gift ever! :D *offers homemade biscuits as a bribe*


	14. Brad POV

  


Brad's gaze follows Doc when he climbs out of his ranger grave, clearly careful not to wake Ray, and then gathers his gear and leaves to take over watch from Brad. Since Reporter doesn't factor into the headcount as a civilian non-combatant, they have to split the watch duty between the four Marines on the team. Ray took the first watch and Brad the second, and now it's Doc's turn. Garza will go last. Brad gets to sleep now for however long he'll be granted that luxury, so he lies down in his extra long ranger grave and relaxes. He can't quite fall asleep yet, though, his mind keeps wandering back to what he just witnessed.

When Brad came to wake Tim, he wasn't exactly surprised when he spotted two shapes huddled together to sleep in one of the ranger graves. It's a pretty common sight on deployment when the temperatures drop to very uncomfortable levels at night, because when it gets cold the only thing that matters is to keep warm, not where you get that warmth from. And body heat is for obvious reasons a resource that is pretty much always available, and it can be a reasonably effective way to warm up and stay warm when you're not moving around to keep your body temperature up. Training teaches them to make use of it and nobody who's been on active missions in a cold climate has any false modesty or misplaced prejudices left. If you do, you've never been _truly_ cold. 

Call it combat cuddling, tactical huddling, chain-spooning, butt to nut or whatever other name you have for it - Brad has done it before, too. Many times, in fact. He even slept huddled together with Doc before - although it was more a group huddle that also included the other men of their team, among them Pappy and Kocher. Yeah, that mission in Afghanistan was a _very_ cold one, and all of them certainly appreciated every bit of warmth they could retain. That even included the beards they involuntarily grew over their three-week mission in the mountains. 

What _actually_ surprised Brad about the two shapes in the ranger grave was that it was _not_ Ray and Walt who had huddled together. That he would have expected, they're close and have done that many times over - whether they're on the same team or not. He never quite manages to say if it's to ward off the cold or because they both just seem to sleep better when they're close to somebody they trust, as Brad has realised quite some time ago. But it wasn't Walt - instead, the person curled tightly around Ray was the one guy Brad has _not_ seen seeking physical closeness with any of the men so far: Doc.

Brad stares up at the night sky, generating in his mind an image of Doc and Ray when he came to wake Tim for his watch shift. Brad visualises the details: How very close they were pressed together because of the narrowness of the ranger grave as much as for maximum warmth. How they seemed to fit together like two puzzle pieces due to their difference in height, with Tim following the lines of Ray's body with his own, perfectly slotted together even in their bulky gear. How protective Tim looked in the way he had curled around Ray, totally unlike his behaviour towards Ray when they're both awake. How comfortable they appeared. Not just warm and relaxed in sleep, but _genuinely comfortable_.

For a moment Brad's wondering how _that_ happened. He certainly never expected them to be able to be in each other's company without ending up in some kind of argument, much less to _voluntarily_ share body heat when there are so many other potential candidates available that they actually _do_ get along with. In all honesty, Brad would have expected each of them to opt for Garza or even Reporter - who're both in their graves in the immediate vicinity - rather than for each other. 

Well, if anything, that shows that even Brad can be wrong in his assessments. This might be a careful and tentative approach - not that Brad really dares to believe that before he hasn't witnessed an actual change in their behaviour after a day of driving around in the Humvee. But at least it seems like Doc managed to get Ray to _genuinely_ sleep - which Ray hasn't done in weeks, Brad knows that with absolute certainty because he was in the same tent and is now in the same Humvee as Ray. And Ray _needs_ sleep, Brad is very much aware of that. He just never expected that _Tim_ of all people would be the one to actually get him to sleep. Brad regards that as a fortunate coincidence, and one he will most certainly make use of.

Pity that Casey Kasem is hellbent on not letting that happen, Brad thinks with an annoyed sigh when he's woken just an hour after lying down. His annoyance turns into a strong feeling of genuinely pissed off when the alert is sounded about a potential enemy squad by the canal even after Brad confirms Doc's assessment that it's in fact just a bunch of rocks.


	15. Ray POV

  


It's Brad who wakes Ray by nudging his boot to Ray's shoulder from where he's standing over Ray's ranger grave. "Ray, wake up. There's been an alert. Casey Kasem insists there are Iraqi RPG hunterkiller teams down by the canal despite Doc and me telling him they're rocks."

"Oh, you mean those formations about a hundred metres east of here?" Ray asks when he peels open his eyes. Oh, it's not _Ray's_ grave, it's _Doc's_ grave. Right. He fell asleep in Doc's grave because they were sharing body heat. Crazy, but apparently true.

"Yeah, those." Brad replies without bothering to hide his long-suffering huff. "He insists that we all take up defensive positions and observe the threat."

"What a fucking retard." Ray grumbles when he gets up and then stretches until his spine pops a few times. Daaaaamn, he hasn't woken up feeling that refreshed in weeks, and that despite the fact that according to his watch he slept barely three hours. 

Ray gets his gear and follows Brad to their assigned position, then he lies down on his stomach in the free spot next to the Doc and activates his NVGs to check the canal. Of course there's nothing, just the same old rocks that Ray already spent way too long staring at during his own watch earlier that night. Yeah, he's not going to waste his precious batteries on staring at fucking rocks, so Ray raises his hand and pretends to be adjusting his NVGs when he's actually switching them off. He'd do it more openly and would even raise the damn things up if it wasn't for Casey Kasem strutting up and down their line like a fucking peacock. He certainly won't like it if one of his minions is clearly _not_ watching the rock-Iraqis. Ha! Iroqis. Or should it be Irockis?

After a moment Ray becomes aware that the outside of his right calf is surprisingly warm while the other side is unpleasantly cold, and that's when he realises that his leg came to rest against Doc's when he lay down. Doc obviously never moved his leg away, maybe he also appreciates the warmth after getting a taste of it earlier tonight when they shared his grave. Ray certainly _did_ get a taste _for_ it, because Doc's actually really nice to sleep against. Solid yet comfortable, and most important of all, he's _warm_. And their height difference makes them fit together perfectly, Ray noticed that already when he lay down in Doc's ranger grave. Doc's tall enough to cover Ray's legs as well as all of his back and even up to his neck and head, like a long, malleable, human hot-water bottle. Yeah, a perfect fit to stay warm. Nice and toasty. His personal hot-Doc bottle. 

It certainly helped Ray fall asleep, especially once his shivering stopped. He has slept huddled together with Walt more times than he can count, and with a few other guys too - mostly in groups that he likes to refer to as a 'puppy pile' - but he can't remember any of them ever putting him to sleep as efficiently as Doc did tonight. Ray was actually completely out - which usually never happens to him, especially not on deployments _and_ especially not when he's been taking uppers all day. And those two things usually go hand in hand. But tonight he even must have slept through Doc getting up for his watch shift an hour or two after Ray lay down, which is quite astonishing considering that Ray is usually a pretty light sleeper. Seems Doc is like the perfect sleep medication for Ray: One dose of Doc-cuddling and there's no trouble falling asleep, there are no dreams, no restlessness and no random waking up. No side effects, either, as far as Ray can tell. 

Awesome. Ray wants to keep him. 

"Person." Doc's voice suddenly says next to him, and Ray can tell that he's keeping it so low that only Ray can hear him. "Are your fucking NVGs switched off?"

"Oh yes. I'm conserving batteries." Ray replies with a grin and turns towards the sound since he can't actually see with the deactivated NVGs in front of his face. "Nothing to see down there anyway. Casey Kasem just apparently thinks that both Brad Colbert and Doc Bryan are full of shit."

For a moment it's quiet beside him, then he hears Doc flip the switch on his NVGs. "Guess I should also conserve batteries."

For a moment Ray is stunned by Doc's actions as well as his words, then he chuckles. "Wise decision, Doc. I'm sure we'll need those batteries far more urgently later on."

"I don't doubt it." Doc replies drily. He's quiet again, then Ray feels him move his leg a little so that it's resting against Ray's almost up to mid-thigh where Doc's gas mask carrier case is strapped to his left leg. "You still cold?"

"Nah, Doc, I'm good. For real, this time. No bullshitting." Ray chuckles and decides to move his leg a bit further against Doc's too, because even if he's good, he still appreciates the warmth of his personal hot-Doc bottle.

They fall silent again and keep pretending to watch the Iroqis - that just looks nicer than 'Irockis' in Ray's opinion - and Ray's surprised how comfortable the silence between them feels. Only then does Ray realise that he never took any Ripped Fuel after he woke up, which is usually one of the first things he does nowadays. Wow, he didn't even _think about_ taking any. That's unusual. Must be because he actually slept for those few hours tonight. Maybe Doc-cuddling does have side effects, after all.

Ray focusses on the warmth pressing against the side of his leg and wonders if he can maybe get Doc to do that sharing-body-heat thing again whenever they'll have the opportunity to sleep the next time. It's certainly very pleasant and very effective, and Ray's not about to pass up on that. 

At least not as long as Doc doesn't threaten to dismember him for suggesting it.


	16. Brad POV

  


"Gear up, gents! Move it out!" Brad shouts over the general hustle and bustle of the platoon who're still parked on the side of the road to Nasiriyah, and the men jump into action instantly.

Brad makes sure to recover his precious radio - their only link to the outside world - and carefully stows the antenna before he stores the small device in the Humvee. All the while he keeps an eye on the men getting ready to get oscar mike, and that's when he catches sight of Trombley - their youngest and most green member who was originally supposed to be on Brad's team - walking along the line of their victors with his flak vest hanging open and without his tourniquet around his neck. Before Brad has any opportunity to correct his mistakes, Doc is already on him like an angry vulture. 

"Close your fucking flak vest, Trombley! Where's your Delta tourniquet?" Doc pummels Trombley immediately and Brad wonders how the fuck Trombley could misstep like that after having lived and trained with Doc for months now - he really should have known better. Doc's been on his case before, and now Trombley looks like a guilty, lost puppy while he's digging in his thigh pocket to retrieve the cloth. It doesn't help him, though. 

"Come on, Trombley!" Doc urges him on, he's visibly annoyed about the whole thing. As soon as Trombley presents him with his bunched up tourniquet, Doc resolutely takes it and places it loosely around Trombley's neck. "Fucking keep it _here_."

"Yeah, Trombley, that was just dumb. Even for a new guy." Ray comments from where he's coming towards One Alpha's Humvee from down the line with his canteen cup in his hands, looking smug and chiding at the same time. He stops next to Brad by the Humvee and lazily drinks what Brad can now smell is coffee. Brad shakes his head in exasperation - he can't believe that Ray's _still_ milking the stove malfunction to guilt-trip Rudy into making him coffee. "Say, Trombley, do you eat Charms in the Humvee, too?"

"Shut up, Person." Doc throws back at Ray while he's already moving on to Reporter in his pre-departure run to make the men ready for combat. Brad would help him with that, but Doc already has the two men who need it most covered. Sometimes Brad is tempted to call Tim a mother hen, but he's well aware that that specific character trait is basically a prerequisite to becoming a corpsman, and just like any Recon Marine Brad knows better than to say _that_ out loud when a corpsman might potentially hear it. Nobody wants to lose those motherhenning privileges, after all. Especially not on deployment, Brad thinks when he spots Jacks who he knows still has Doc's spare fleece in his possession and wears it every night because he was too proud and too dumb to bring his own.

"What? I'm helping him learn the ropes!" Ray makes an attempt at looking innocent that wouldn't even have worked on a half-blind gullible granny, especially because he keeps rather smugly sipping the coffee he finagled out of Rudy.

"No, you're simply being an asshole." Doc actually takes the time to turn around to throw Ray a glare before he returns his attention to Reporter. 

"Now _that's_ the pot calling the kettle black, Mr Grumpy Pants." Ray points out drily, obviously completely unimpressed by Doc's glare.

"Ray, if Doc decides to murder you, I will stand by and watch. Just so you know." Brad remarks casually when he has enough of following their exchange. So far Doc and Ray haven't behaved any differently from before their nightly moment of bonding. They've been bickering and verbally sparring on and off the entire morning as if them sharing a ranger grave last night never happened. Ray's still driving Doc crazy with his permanent talking and Tim's still snarking at Ray more often than not. They certainly don't get along any better than yesterday, not that Brad expected a few hours of shared body heat to magically cure the issues they have. 

But he _did_ notice that they both seem a little better than yesterday, as if they got some much needed rest that night. Tim is withstanding Ray's bullshit easier and for longer than he did before, and Brad noticed that so far Ray's been taking less Ripped Fuel today, as if he doesn't need quite that much. Those might be very small changes, one might even think them insignificant, but Brad knows better than that. He sees them as teeny tiny signs of hope that maybe things between Tim and Ray can improve in the course of time. His poor nerves certainly would appreciate it very much.

"Where the fuck did you get this?" Doc asks with disgust in his voice while he's inspecting Reporter's catastrophe of a bulletproof vest that Brad has eyed with disdain before but refrained from commenting on. Doc is not so considerate, especially now that for the first time it suddenly becomes a vital piece of equipment, even for Reporter - it's not like the bad guys are going to shoot _around_ him just because he's a civilian. 

"What?" Reporter is obviously confused by the sudden intense attention Tim's paying him. "Ah, Ebay?"

Brad rolls his eyes at that answer at the same moment that Doc repeats in obvious exasperation, "Ebay?"

Why the fuck didn't it occur to Reporter that maybe investing in a good bulletproof vest might be a wise thing to do when he's planning to accompany frontline troops into a war, where he's bound to experience combat situations? He can't be _that_ naive, now, can he?

Doc begins to work the fastenings of the vest just to quickly establish that they're useless. "Person, get me the rigger tape?" 

To Brad's astonishment Ray drains the last of his coffee and then reaches into the Humvee to retrieve the duct tape that Doc has attached to the back of Ray's seat and brings it to him. "I thought that was meant to tape my mouth shut. If you use it on Reporter instead, I'm going to get jealous."

"Don't worry about that, Person." With a mockingly cocked eyebrow Doc accepts the tape and begins to wrap it around Reporter's torso to make sure that the vest can't open. "I'll always keep a reserve _specifically_ for you."

"Awww, you know how to warm the cockles of my heart, Doc." Ray says in an exaggeratedly sappy voice and the matching expression on his face while he's pressing his hands against his flak vest right over his heart. "You're such a sweet talker."

"The _'cockles of your heart'_?" Tim looks put out and maybe a bit disgusted. "I should use the tape to cover you mouth for that alone."

"Kinky, Doc." Ray grins in a downright salacious manner. "I see that dirty talk will be a challenge with you."

"Your mouth will be _taped shut_ , Person, there will be no talking." Doc remarks drily while he's finishing with Reporter's vest. "That's the whole point of it."

"You don't know what you'll be missing out on." Ray says in a voice that is so over-the-top sultry that it's more than ridiculous, and he suggestively wiggles his eyebrows.

"I think I'll survive." Doc replies with a snort and pushes Reporter in the direction of the Humvee. "Now mount up, both of you. We're almost oscar mike."

Brad just shakes his head when he gets into the passenger seat of their victor, and suddenly he can't help wondering whether he just witnessed Ray and Doc fighting or flirting. He wants to say fighting, but in any other context he'd definitely and undoubtedly call it flirting. Just to find out how it feels, he says in his mind _'Doc and Ray are flirting'_. He's not sure whether he wants to shudder or to sigh in resignation.

Please no. It'll make his life _so_ much more complicated. There's enough tension between Ray and Doc without _that_ adding to the mixture. It would mean he'd have to yet again update his analogy, this time from them being like fire and gasoline to them being like a missile and an entire oil field. He's still not sure who is what in that analogy.

Brad sighs when Ray starts the engine and the Humvee begins to move. Why can't he just have a simple, straightforward war that takes place _outside_ his victor? Is that really too much to ask?


	17. Nate POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Nate! Seriously, how could I have written this fic without Nate's POV? XD I hope you enjoy it!

  


"Shit! Marine Arty. That was friendly!"

"Corpsman! Corpsman!"

The frantic shouts come practically simultaneously to Espera's observation about the high-tension power cables that were just hit by Marine fire and came down on their fellow Marines from RCT-1 patrolling the riverbank. The fear, pain and panic in that one word echoes over to them in full force despite the distance, and before Nate can even think about what to do, Doc Bryan runs up and comes to crouch by his side, weapon steady and his omnipresent medical bag on his back. 

Doc throws him just a cursory glance and seems to have to rein himself in in order to stop next to Nate long enough to speak. "Sir, request going out there-"

"Go!" Nate replies immediately, before Doc can even finish his sentence. Not that he thinks that he could have stopped Doc Bryan. In Nate's experience corpsmen are a force of nature when they feel responsible for any wounded, no matter whether they're still trying to get to them or are already tending to them. And trying to hold back a corpsman is never a good idea. They're also usually extremely highly trained, and with a guy like Tim Bryan Nate has absolute confidence in his skills not just as a medical professional, but also as a very experienced combatant. 

Brad was absolutely right when he described Doc Bryan as an asset far beyond his medical expertise, Nate knows that now with absolute certainty, three days into their invasion of Iraq. Not that he ever doubted Brad's words, because if somebody has managed to have earned such a high standing in Sergeant Brad Colbert's esteem, they're _definitely_ worth it. But it's one thing to hear about it, and another entirely to experience it for yourself. By now Nate has seen Doc Bryan's warrior side several times, not just during training at Camp Pendleton and Matilda, but also out here, in the genuine real-life situation. Not to mention that Nate got to experience his tactical and organisational skills while they were planning the setup of the platoon back at Matilda, when Mike, Nate, Doc, Brad, Espera, Pappy and Lovell discussed the issue ad nauseam until they'd found a solution that worked.

Now Nate is watching with a tense frown how Doc Bryan cuts through the high grass towards the riverbank where the multiple injured Marines are still frantically shouting for a corpsman, for help. It randomly pops to Nate's mind that Doc's fully packed medical bag weighs about thirty-three pounds, which he's carrying most of the time in addition to the approximately sixty pounds of their general gear. And yet here he is, sprinting towards his targets without showing any sign of the additional weight. 

He also doesn't show any consideration or care for the bullets raining down on them from the other side of the river, he just keeps going as if they can't harm him, as if he's bulletproof. For a moment Nate is in awe, which only increases when Doc Bryan reaches the downed men and quickly and efficiently begins his assessment. Every single one of his movements is exact and fast, yet still oddly calm and focussed, not hectic, not frantic. Nate realises that it's the first time he sees Doc in a genuine battle situation acting as a corpsman instead of as a warrior, and it makes a huge difference in a way he never even realised before. In training the danger to the corpsman himself isn't real, but here and now it very much is. Every moment Doc could be right next to his patients needing help himself after being shot. The times when medics weren't shot by enemy forces are long in the past. 

Once more Nate is truly glad that Bravo Two was assigned Tim Bryan as their corpsman. Already on the first day of his placement with Bravo Two Doc requested Nate's permission to not only train the men in first aid, but to get allocated time slots to properly hold what he referred to as 'Basic Trauma Care Session' that he insisted everybody in the platoon attend, including Mike and Nate himself. When Doc took to quizzing the men at random times about the content he taught in his sessions, he didn't shy away from including Nate in his question rounds, although to be fair he gave Nate a heads-up about that during their talk on the first day and asked him to lead by example - if the men saw him learning along with them, they'd get behind the whole thing a lot easier. Nate agreed immediately, because he's well aware that it's knowledge he needs to have just like any other guy on the platoon.

Then at Matilda Doc put together blowout kits for every single man in the platoon and arranged for them to be ready and delivered long before they stepped off so that he could drill the men in how to use the supplies. On top of that he insured that every man wears his Delta tourniquet around the neck so that they can get to it without delay when it's needed, and he instilled in them the fundamental attitude to keep firing even when injured. Overall Nate knows that Doc went way beyond what is expected of a corpsman, and Nate is not only genuinely grateful for it, it also made him respect the man even more. 

And now that he sees Doc in action on the battlefield in his role as a corpsman for the first time, Nate feels oddly reassured that every man of Bravo Two has the best chances of getting out of this alive even if they're injured because they have one fucking formidable corpsman who will not only risk everything to get to them and get them out, but who's also utterly competent and efficient while doing it. How much better could their odds be? Those RCT-1 guys got really lucky that Doc Bryan was around when they got hit, Nate thinks when he becomes aware of the structured activity down by the riverbank that seems to be directed by Doc Bryan, who has obviously taken charge of the conglomerate of various corpsmen and Marines joining him in helping the injured men. 

Out of the corner of his eye Nate notices that Ray, who's lying on his stomach in their little hollow in the ground, has turned towards the events down by the riverbank. He's clearly covering the multiple corpsmen that have now begun to work on the injured Marines below the mast of the high-tension power lines, and Nate decides to make use of Ray's already established focus on the situation. "Person, Lilley, keep an eye out for the corpsmen down there and cover them when necessary." 

"Already on it, LT." Ray replies without ever looking away from his objective. "Can't have our awesome warrior healer's ass get blown to bits by some Hajji, now, can we? We still have a bit of invasion ahead of us, after all."

"Yeah." Lilley comments from where he's following Ray's lead and also attentively observes the scene by the riverbank over his iron sights. "I'd rather keep Doc Bryan around. He's badass, brah."

"I can't agree more, homes." Ray's voice is chipper and clearly amused. "Who else is going to snark at me in the Humvee for hours on end? Even Brad gets tired of it at some point, but Doc's got _stamina_ , I tell you that." 

Nate is one hundred percent sure he's not imagining the suggestive intonation that Ray uses on the word 'stamina', and he has to suppress a snort because it would _not_ be professional of him, especially given the current circumstances. Ray's comments and actions often have that effect on Nate, and sometimes he regrets that he can't let his amusement show. But he's the platoon commander, there are some things he just can't do, no matter how amusing he tends to find Ray's often inappropriate but perfectly timed comments.

Now that he knows both Ray Person and Tim Bryan, Nate is not sure anymore that placing them on the same team - much less in the same victor - was such a good idea. So far he had the impression that they don't get along too well. Despite their personal differences they work together perfectly, but Nate didn't expect any less given that they're both professionals. But Nate has also seen Brad's long-suffering looks, and he has heard Brad's odd barb at the seemingly rather heated atmosphere in the Humvee, and Reporter even said to Nate that he's not sure if Ray and Doc genuinely don't like each other or if they actually enjoy verbally massacring each other too much to stop.

So far no outright or even formal complaint has been made, so Nate keeps out of the issue. They can solve it among themselves. And judging by Ray's immediate and instinctive covering of his teammate, Nate deems it safe to say that even if there's some friction between Ray and Doc Bryan, they'll still manage to keep it professional and work together, and that's what matters.


	18. Tim POV

  


Tim is standing next to Brad, Poke and Reporter by the hood of One Alpha's Humvee when some guys from Alpha walk down the line of the victors waiting by the side of the road to assault through Nasiriyah along with RCT-1. It's dark by now, and Tim can tell that it will be another one of those nights without sleep for anybody. 

Person has been jacked up on Ripped Fuel since they got back on the road around noon, and he supplemented it with a few rounds of dip and the odd handful of instant coffee crystals throughout the day. He's more high-strung than ever, which manifests in him talking crazy shit and making very unwise comments like his outright provocation of Sixta when they were getting shot at by the head of the bridge into Nasiriyah. Referring to Sixta's nickname of 'Coward of Khafji' and the surrounding rumours that as a sergeant Sixta had taken a Humvee and fled a town while leaving behind his comrades when they noticed a great number of Iraqi soldiers in a building close by, Person called out to Sixta and seriously asked him _to his face_ if it wasn't time for Sixta to find a Humvee and flee the premises. It was his dumb luck that the loud noises of so many weapons being fired nearby made his words impossible for Sixta to understand - because if he had, it would have gotten Person NJP'd _in the least_. 

Not that Tim doesn't think it's well deserved in the face of such a stupid action, but he'd rather not lose the driver of his Humvee in the eve of an assault through a very hostile city, even if said driver is annoying as shit. He's _especially_ annoying right now, and Tim is aware that a good part of that is the adrenaline from getting shot at by the head of the bridge where they spent some eight useless, wasted hours under fire. Well, not entirely useless, at least Tim was close by when the RCT-1 guys got hit by friendly fire and he was the first on scene to provide what help he could. He's pretty sure at least two of the guys won't make it, though. He's seen injuries like that and their consequences too many times to still believe in good odds.

Tim is listening with half an ear to the Alpha guys bragging about the Fedayeen they shot in the course of the day when he notices out of the corner of his eye how Person gets out of their Humvee and walks to the side of the road just a few feet from them to take a leak. As soon as Person has rid himself of his gear in order to pull down his MOPP suit pants, his voice echoes over to where Tim, Brad, Poke, Reporter and the three Alpha guys are gathered around the hood. "Man, I pulled my trousers down and it smells like hot dick. That sweaty hot-cock smell. I kind of smell like I just had sex."

Tim doesn't bother to hide his eye roll. Yeah, Person's not the only one with that particular reaction, Tim knows that not just from theoretical education on the matter as part of his training, but also from countless hours spent with units in combat situations. And most men have the tendency to proclaim this quite common effect on their dick loudly and incessantly and to everybody who does or rather does _not_ want to hear about it - like Person did just now. 

"Yeah, I got a full-on boner today when I was shooting at those motherfuckers." One of the Alpha guys replies to Person's observation that Tim could have done without.

"Me too." A second man from Alpha chimes in. "The adrenaline rush leaves me fucking horny, man."

Tim doesn't enter into the discussion, and he notices that Brad and Poke don't, either. Tim himself is not among those guys who get horny and hard by combat. For a while early in his career he was wondering why what that is, because he doesn't react with fear or shivering from excess adrenaline either. Tim's experience with combat is that he gets calm and completely focussed in a way he has only ever experienced in high-pressure, high-risk situations, and especially when he has wounded to take care of and he's smack in the middle of an emergency. It's like a veil comes over him and it filters out everything that is not important, dampens fear and nervousness and emotions, and leaves everything that is important crystal clear, his concentration sharpened and his hands steady and calm. 

Tim has never said so out loud, but he thinks that that feeling is as addictive to him as it is to other men to get their adrenaline boner. Tim loves the clarity and the straightforwardness of those moments, he enjoys the intense focus and the calm in his mind. If Tim had to venture a guess, he'd say that Brad and him are much alike in that regard. Brad got his Iceman moniker for a reason, after all, and Tim has observed on Brad the same effects that he himself experiences. He knows for a fact that Brad doesn't get a boner either because during that mission in Afghanistan when their six-man team spent three weeks in the mountains, the situation came up where Tim had to patch Brad up immediately after a combat situation. Nothing bad, just a rather deep nick on his upper thigh, and it required Brad to take off his pants so that Tim could apply a proper bandage - and Tim could tell for obvious reasons that Brad was most certainly not turned on by the action they'd just seen. He was his calm, focussed Iceman persona, and there was no boner in sight. 

The lack of a visible erection could be attributed to his injury and the resulting pain, but Tim knows that's not it for several reasons. First, at that point the adrenaline was still very much active in Brad's system and the pain would not have registered to its full extent yet, and certainly not enough to dampen an adrenaline boner. Second, Tim has had the doubtful pleasure of patching up a lot of guys immediately after or even in a combat situation, and he has observed it countless times that men were still very much sporting a hard-on despite injuries, as long as their wounds were not too extensive. Some even seem to get turned on even more by the pain, and that is a combination that's not nearly as uncommon as one might expect.

So Tim is not at all surprised by Person's reaction to today's combat experience, but he didn't need to hear such a detailed description of it. Knowing that Person can be entirely different when he's not high on Ripped Fuel doesn't make him any less annoying now that he is, but Tim finds himself missing the guy _not_ on stimulants who he spent last night lying next to while not-watching those rocks that Casey Kasem was convinced were Iraqis. There was a surprisingly relaxed ease to their silence as well as to the few words they shared, completely opposite of their usual exchanges that have a habit of becoming nasty rather quickly. Tim actually found himself enjoying those hours last night that they spent in companionable silence next to each other, the outside of Tim's left leg kept warm by Person's that he never moved away until that useless surveillance mission ended. 

It surprised Tim - and still does - how comfortable he felt in Person's company. He certainly didn't expect that given his previous experiences with the guy. Usually Person ranges among the few people Tim has met who can drive him up the walls, especially when he's talking bullshit non-stop when he's high. And given that there's no real chance for Person to get any sleep tonight, Tim expects tomorrow to become even worse. If there's one thing he learned about Person in those past few days since they stepped off, than it's that he'll down more stimulants than any remotely sane person ever would because he'll do anything to make sure that he can fulfil his duty as the driver of the point vehicle - especially in a situation like this where they're expected to bust through the middle of a very hostile city and Person is well aware that he has not only Bravo Two trailing him, but the entire battalion. Tim doesn't doubt that that is enough responsibility to make him gulp down half a bottle of Ripped Fuel, and Tim doesn't see any feasible way to prevent that without endangering them all since there's no way to get Person some real sleep in their current situation. One of life's favourite ways to fuck with them, it seems.

Tim sighs under his breath and returns his attention to the group of men standing around the hood on his victor. Person is dressed again and has joined them, and now he's eagerly explaining his ideas for new topics that could be used to produce porn, and the Alpha guys are gleefully joining in his more than stupid suggestions. Person proposes an entire multi-part series by the name of 'War Porn - Guys and Their Guns' and points out to Reporter that that would be such an _interesting_ topic for Hustler and that maybe in addition to his Rolling Stone articles Reporter should offer that to reputable porn mags. Person even offers to co-author.

Tim just rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath. Yeah, Person still _is_ fucking annoying.


	19. Walt POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally Walt is coming into the picture! I know you all want him to put in his two pennies worth - and he sure will do that. He's an _excellent_ observer XD
> 
> @ **military_bluebells** : I promised you Walt, here he is! And because I know it'll make you happy, I'll let you know that we'll see more of him. I have already four more chapters from his POV finished ^^ And the comment replies are coming, I'm just so high on writing right now (like Ray on Ripped Fuel XD) that I keep putting out about 6.000 words a day, and sadly I have to work again from tomorrow on, so I'm trying to get as much written as possible so that I can keep supplying you with new chapters during that work period ;D

  


"Hasser!"

"Yeah?" Walt turns on the truck bed so that he can look down at Poke who's standing next to Two-One Bravo's Humvee. 

"I'm trading you for a Mexican." Poke informs him and gestures at One-Alpha's Humvee a few metres away from theirs. "You're in Brad's truck now."

Walt just nods and moves to get his stuff. "Good to go."

Walt doesn't mind switching from Two-One Bravo to Two-One Alpha. If anything it'll be fun, because Ray's never boring. Walt has known him for almost two years now and they're really good friends, so it's no hardship to get on the same team with him. Walt doesn't even mind the motormouth tendencies Ray develops when he's on Ripped Fuel, he finds it entertaining and a very good way to stay awake without taking any stimulants himself - well, beyond coffee, that is. Walt will _never_ refuse a cup of coffee. _Especially_ if Rudy made it.

Walt crosses Gabe on his way to One Alpha's Humvee and they bump fists while walking past each other. 

"My baby is yours now, Walt. Take good care of her, she's one sensitive lady." Gabe says over his shoulder, a grin on his face.

"I will spoil her rotten with lube and attention." Walt assures Gabe with a smirk when he reaches the Humvee and throws his personal rucksack on the roof. "And you keep my fiery lady happy."

"Oh, I know her kind." Gabe shouts over to Walt when he's climbing into One Bravo's turret and inspects the 50 cal. "This is going to be _fun_."

Walt chuckles at Gabe's enthusiasm while he's crawling through the unoccupied rear passenger side of One Alpha to get into the turret, then he begins to stow his shit. 

"Hey, Walt, can you keep it down?" Ray complains from his spot in the driver's seat where Walt saw him slumped against the door as if he's trying to sleep. "I'm having trouble hearing the artillery."

Walt just snorts quietly to himself. He seriously doubts that Ray will get any sleep no matter how quiet the surroundings would be - he knows Ray well enough to be aware that he doesn't really sleep when he's on uppers. That's a lesson Walt learned during their deployment to Afghanistan. Ray only sleeps when he genuinely crashes from his stimulant abuse, which is something he knows to prevent through the thick of a mission. And since they might move out at any given moment tonight, Walt is pretty sure that Ray is _not_ going to risk crashing. He knows Ray's personal rucksack is well-stocked with Ripped Fuel, Nescafé and that disgusting dip that Walt never got used to. He tried, but no. That stuff is _not_ for him.

Walt also finds that Reporter is actually a nice guy and quite interesting to talk to, so he doesn't mind riding with him either. And Brad is an awesome TL, that Walt knows for sure because he was Walt's and Ray's TL back in Afghanistan. The only guy on his new team that Walt is a bit unsure about is Doc Bryan. He's undoubtedly very competent and Walt greatly respects him, that's not the point. Walt just never really knows how to behave around him. Doc always seems to be in a bad mood and he can be quite harsh at times, but Walt thinks he's a genuinely decent guy. Just, you know, perpetually pissed off about something. 

Walt can't help wondering how things are between Ray and Doc because that's two polar opposites right there. He's heard Ray whine about it during training at Camp Pendleton and Matilda after Ray learned that he's on the same team with Doc, but ever since they left Matilda Walt hasn't really had the time to talk much with Ray. Well, that's not surprising, they've been pretty busy, after all. However, Walt can't imagine that Doc is much enjoying Ray's motormouth tendencies, so he's sure those two must have clashed at some point - there certainly are rumours going around the platoon about the 'Epic Verbal Battles Of One Alpha', although Walt isn't sure who spread them. Well, at least Ray and Doc haven't murdered each other yet, but that's probably mostly due to Brad keeping them from it. This morning Walt even heard Lilley and Leon joke about Brad ordering Doc and Ray to combat cuddle at night as a bonding exercise because he had enough of the constant, violent bitching in his Humvee. Walt can almost picture Brad doing that if things between Ray and the Doc got even anywhere near as nasty as the rumours are claiming.

Once Walt has safely stored his stuff, he returns his attention to the Mark-19 and inspects it to familiarise himself with it a bit more. He then scans the perimeter and keeps watch over his sector, which is when he spots Doc slowly wandering among the men, talking to them all, some in groups, some alone. He's checking up on them, Walt knows that because Doc's been doing that regularly ever since they stepped off, and he has talked to Walt a few times, too. He somehow manages to do it so subtly that Walt is pretty sure most of the men don't even consciously realise that he's not just mingling like the other guys do. Walt knows that they wouldn't talk as freely and as frankly with Doc around if they were aware that he's not just keeping tabs on their physical health by his little chats but also their mental health, so being covert about it is important in order to get a true picture. Walt admires that he manages to pull that off given that 'covert' is something they're all trained in, yet Doc still somehow flies under the radar with his check-up chats.

Doc finishes his round by coming back to One Alpha's Humvee and Walt sees him stop next to the driver's side. "Get some sleep, Person. We don't know how much time we have here, so make use of the opportunity _now_."

"Can't sleep." Walt hears Ray reply, and from Ray's voice alone Walt knows that Ray's shrugging along with the statement, even if he can't actually see Ray from the turret.

Doc huffs, and it seems to hold an impressive amount of long-suffering annoyance for such a small sound. "If you're too keyed up to sleep, try to at least doze, Person."

"I _am_ trying." Ray sounds like a petulant kid and Walt allows himself to grin at that. Yeah, it's never boring with Ray around.

"While looking at a porn mag?" Doc scoffs. "I doubt it."

"It's my bedtime story!" Ray defends himself and Walt can hear him demonstratively shake the mag because the pages ruffle together. 

"Put that thing down and fucking _rest_ , Person, or I'll knock you out right now and then you'll get a few hours of _guaranteed_ rest." Doc doesn't bother to hide the threat behind his words, and Walt finds himself actually wondering if he'd really do it. "Of course if I do that, you might find yourself in the backseat if we're oscar mike before you recover. But at least you'll be well rested."

"You're not allowed to punch me out, you're a corpsman." Ray points our smugly, and Walt just _knows_ he's grinning. "Didn't you swear an oath not to harm you own men?"

"I'm actually following my pledge since I'm making sure you don't keel over and run yourself into the ground, Person. Prevention is better than cure, especially in our current situation." Doc retorts casually and Walt actually believes him. Maybe he really _will_ punch Ray out. Walt wonders how Brad will react to that.

"You're a freaking menace, Doc." Ray complains, but Walt thinks he might be folding. 

"And you're still the most annoying little shit I've ever encountered." Doc replies drily and Walt can't quite contain the surprised snort of laughter that leaves him at that comment. He's sure not many people have actually told Ray the truth _that_ directly and unapologetically to his face before.

"Walt, don't you laugh at my expense!" Ray chides Walt, clearly he heard the snort. "You're _my_ friend, you're supposed to back me up!"

"Sorry, Ray, but Doc kind of hit the bull's eye here." Walt remarks, still grinning. "So, why don't you just take his advice and rest, I'm on watch anyway."

Doc looks up at Walt and then gives him a tiny nod that Walt isn't entirely sure how to interpret, but it's probably appreciation for Walt backing him up in his quest to get Ray to rest. 

"You're a traitor, Walt." Ray huffs in clear displeasure. "Why don't you go back to One Bravo?"

"Sorry, Ray, you're stuck with me." Walt says with a smirk, not sorry at all.

"I hate you both." Ray grumbles, but Walt can hear that he's putting the magazine aside because it rustles again, but like it fell down somewhere, not like somebody is leafing through it. Walt glances down at Doc, who's watching Ray for a moment before he's obviously satisfied with what he's seeing, and then he looks up at Walt and gives him another nod, this one clearly visible. 

"Welcome to the team, Hasser."

"Thanks, Doc." Walt replies with a smile and watches how Doc walks on to One Bravo, probably to check on Walt's former team. 

Walt replays the conversation he was just privy to in his mind and grins. If this was a preview of what's to come, then Walt is in a strange way looking forward to when they move out and he gets to witness the real 'Epic Verbal Battles Of One Alpha'. It promises to be _very_ entertaining.


	20. Brad POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, we have a banner now for this story! How do you like it? *is curious* :D I figured at almost 70.000 words this fic is now officially long enough to deserve a banner XD

  


"I thought they were planning to send us over the bridge in the darkness?" Brad hears Reporter say from the backseat when they start rolling over the bridge into Nasiriyah in broad daylight, and his words sound more like a question than a statement.

"Uh-ugh. Not retarded enough." Ray mumbles in reply as if his mouth is too full to speak properly.

"Fucking _cut it down_ , Person, or I will make you!" Doc growls from behind Ray pretty much simultaneously, and it makes Brad turn around just in time to see Ray swallowing at least three capsules of Ripped Fuel straight from the packaging before chugging them down with water from his bottle.

"Fuck, Doc, I'm on thirty hours no sleep!" Ray shoots back and then continues speaking without even taking a breath. "Beats the record I made in high school when I was on the debate team."

"I don't care how many hours you've been awake, Person, you will _not_ get a fucking heart attack on my watch because you're overdosing on that shit!" Doc hisses, clearly genuinely angry but still keeping his voice down. "The maximum dosage of ephedrine considered safe to take in a twenty-four hour window is 100 mg, that equals ten capsules - and that's for a healthy, average weight or above average weight adult living on a balanced diet - which you are _not_ right now, on all accounts! And you just took _four_ fucking capsules _in one go_ while you're already on four capsules from tonight 1 am! That's 80 mg of ephedrine in not even six hours!" 

For a moment Brad is rather impressed with Doc's ability and devotion in keeping track of Ray's drug consumption to that degree of precision, and in the next he's a bit surprised at the very uncharacteristic rant that Tim just embarked on. Brad has known him long enough to realise that this is not typical behaviour for him, Tim usually doesn't react to the men in his care like that. He gets pissed off at them and snarks at them, sure, but this is a genuinely angry rant, as if Ray got to him in a way the men usually don't.

"You heard the Doc, Ray." Brad says firmly, deciding that it's maybe time to take Doc's side in this matter. "Careful with the Ripped Fuel."

In a show of spectacularly bad timing Reporter asks with a disbelieving inflection in his voice, "Wait a minute, you were on the debate team, Ray?"

Brad has other issues to take care of right now. "Ray, what channel's for the 1-19?"

"Six, Four, and TAD Seven." Ray replies without having to think about it, just like Brad knew he'd be able to. Without paying Brad more attention than the time it takes to give him the enquired information Ray presses on to answer Reporter's question in that way of speaking he gets when he's very very high. "Yeah, I was really, really fucking good, but all the other guys on the team thought I was high all of the time."

"Yeah, that's no surprise." Doc remarks without looking away from his sector, the lingering anger still plain in his voice. 

"So..." Reporter begins as if he's wondering if he should actually pose his question, then he seems to decide to go for it. " _Were_ you high?"

"Of course not, Reporter." Brad replies with a snort. "He was on the _debate team_ in high school."

"Point, Brad?" Ray asks rather testily besides him while he's manoeuvring skilfully around the obstacles on the bridge.

"Nobody on a debate team ever does drugs or gets laid." Brad remarks as if he's stating a universal truth. 

"I don't see the facts you're basing your argument on. That's discrimination based on stereotypes, Bradley. Considering your level of intelligence you should be above such simple-minded conclusions that are based on no evidence whatsoever. But maybe I'm erring here and have you categorised well above your mental abilities, considering how much simplicity you're showing in your reasoning here." In a very convincing debate-style manner Ray talks faster the longer he keeps going, and Brad finds it quite amazing that he doesn't stumble on his own words given the high frequency he's producing them in. "I have to object to your claim that students who're on the debate team don't get laid or do drugs. Okay, so maybe they really don't get laid, and even if they do, it's probably pretty crappy - but they sure do drugs. Do you have any idea what it takes to go though and memorise thousands of pages of research so that you can spit them out again at the speed of light when you're given a fixed and usually pretty short time period to make your point? The number of all-nighters we pulled was even worse than what we do on deployments, so many of us ended up taking some kind of stimulant when we were in the competition period. Coffee only gets you so far, then you need something stronger to keep the eyes open and the brain working at top capacity. If you'd done any doping testing on us, I swear that Russian athletes would have looked innocent compared to us, and we were fucking _kids_ -"

Brad listens to Ray with a growing mixture of concern and annoyance the further they get across the bridge, because now is not the time to be distracted, not even for Ray and his strange ability to hyper-focus on several things simultaneously that he gets when he's on Ripped Fuel. They're about to drive through a clearly _very_ hostile city and he wants everybody's attention on the important things, not on chatter. Maybe it's time to make that crystal clear. 

"Shut up, Ray. Focus." Brad says right into Ray's torrent of words, quiet but with the kind of steel in his voice that he knows from experience Ray usually responds to with silence. Brad only uses that voice when he _really_ means it, and Ray knows that very well. True to expectation Ray falls silent almost instantly, and it coincides with them entering the city. 

"You have to teach me how to do that, Brad." Tim says quietly from the backseat, awe and envy in his voice. 

Brad smirks but doesn't reply in the affirmative. "All right, gents! Let's make some money."


	21. Ray POV

  
"Is Hasser good?" Brad shouts in the general direction of the back of the Humvee without ever stopping to fire, and Ray tries to catch the answer because he fucking needs to know if he can continue driving forward without decapitating Walt.

"Are we good to go?" Ray yells at the top of his lungs when the answer doesn't come fast enough.

"Go, go, go!" Reporter shouts back and Ray hears Walt's voice somewhere in the cacophony, so he shifts gears and moves them along the road again and out of this fucking city. With the gunfire still hitting them from behind Ray guns the throttle, and as soon as they clear the intersection he can see the turn onto the highway, but Ray knows they're too fast, they won't be able to make it, it'll end with the Humvee flipping over. So Ray goes for the embankment besides it because there's a stretch of what looks like hard-baked sand there, and he can use that to slow down and then turn up the berm to return to the highway. Already on the way down to the sand Ray is decreasing their speed markedly, but suddenly he lurches forward and catches himself with his hands against the wheel when the Humvee stops dead in its tracks completely out of the blue. Immediately afterwards, Ray he feels it sink down, as if there's no ground beneath the tyres. 

Ray gasps, feeling a numb spot where the wheel dug into his chest. "Fuck! What the-" 

"Dismount! Form a defensive perimeter!" Brad shouts next to him. "This is a fucking sobka field!"

Ray grabs his M-4 and gets out of the Humvee, and fuck, they've sunk almost to the doors in that damn sticky shit. He crouches low, weapon ready, and tries to get a general orientation in this chaos. The first thing he notices is that the other victors have fortunately stopped far enough behind them that they're not in the goddamn sobka field yet. The same sure can't be said about Ray's baby, and yeah, he's _so_ not surprised about that. It's just one of those days, you know, the ones that should be over before they even begin because they're fucked-up to boot.

Yep, this day has been a fucking shit show so far. Let him recapitulate, because it's _so_ much fun. So, first they pass over the bridge across the Euphrates in fucking daylight after waiting _right there_ the entire night, completely contrary to their supposed mission of crossing it under the cover of darkness which would have been the sane thing to do - but no, that's too easy, why the fuck should they ever do something that actually makes sense? 

And then they cross Nasiriyah like fucking walking - okay, driving - targets as if they're there to give the Hajjis an opportunity to practice their shooting skills on slow moving, fully exposed, _unarmoured_ vehicles. Oh yes, and then fucking command turns them into sitting ducks by making them fucking _stop_ smack in the middle of the most beautiful, perfect place for an ambush. What the fuck happened to the ultimate sacred rule of 'you never stop in a kill zone'? It says a lot about the Hajjis' lack of organisational skill that they didn't take the opportunity that was served to them on a silver platter by command. Maybe they missed the bow on the present. Yeah, that must be it. Next time Ray will tie a nice red bow on the Humvee's hood so that they know it's a gift. Maybe he should gift-wrap the fucking vehicle in wrapping paper with little targets printed all over and get a greeting card, too. In case the message's not clear enough. 

So, once they leave the damn city behind - miraculously without any casualties - they come across one _civilian_ casualty after the other, as if there aren't enough legit target to hit. Seriously, women and four-year-old girls are severe threats and have to be taken out on all accounts. Oh yeah, and to make a perfectly shitty day even shittier, when they're on the road there's another fake alarm for a fucking gas attack - and fuck, how Ray _hates_ those, because that gear is the most unpleasant shit ever invented. There's got to be some sadist who designs these fucking MOPP suits with the only goal being to torture their sorry asses until they actually _wish_ for a chemical attack. How sick is that? But hey, it works. Ray actually wants there to be an attack simply so that it wasn't all in vain.

On top of that Ray's so fucking sleep-deprived that he feels high from it, even if it's a different feeling of high than the one he gets from dip and Ripped Fuel. He remembers that the Geneva Convention defines sleep deprivation as a form of torture, so he can't help wondering if that means that the Marine Corps is guilty of torturing him and his brothers. He finds it rather funny that they're allowed to do that to their own men, but not to prisoners of war. Maybe the solution to finally get some sleep is to somehow manage to get himself taken prisoner of war by Americans, not that he's sure how to pull that off. Because he doesn't think that the Hajjis will stick to the Geneva Convention, so getting captured by them wouldn't get him the sleep he craves so so so _so fucking much_. It feels like even the Ripped Fuel is beginning to lose its effect, not to mention that Ray is sure that Doc will blow a gasket if Ray takes just _one_ more capsule after the three he downed sometime this afternoon. And Ray doesn't want to be at fault for Doc dying of a heart attack caused by mother hen rage.

But the shittiness of this shitty day is far from reaching its peak level yet. To continue the catastrophes of the day, fucking Encino Man orders them to take the wrong fucking bridge despite Brad pointing out that it's the wrong turn, and once they're completely fucking off course he blames that shit on Brad and Ray. Oh, Ray _so_ wants to kick that retard in the head. Hard enough to maybe shake loose some marbles. Might even make him more competent - and that's a worrying thought. So as a consequence of that fuck-up they end up at the rear of everyone, like complete losers they're now at the ass of the convoy when they were in the fucking lead before. Ray can't believe the level of incompetence in this company's leadership. It's got to be a record of some kind. Why can't Bravo have Patterson as their company commander? They'd be more than happy to give Alpha Encino Man in exchange. Really, they can have him. Ray's even willing to throw in Casey Kasem as some kind of bargain. They can have him, too.

Haha, but shit still gets worse! Yep, that _is_ actually possible. So, next a fucking shamal moves in and transforms everything into an orange-tinged, gritty mess with fucking sand _everywhere_ inside and outside the Humvee, and consequently visibility decreases dramatically and effectively cuts them off from air support. Of course that's when fucking command sends them straight _through_ another fucking hostile town that Ray doesn't even know the name of, but he knows they could have easily driven _around_ it to link up with RCT-1. Because guess what, that's what they are first ordered to do, they're told _not_ to drive through that shithole because it would get them smoked. Can fucking command make up their minds already? And maybe make some sane, competent decisions in the process? No, of course not, no fucking way! Seems 'command' and 'competence' are two mutually exclusive terms. 

And to make this shitty day _even worse_ , they get fucking lit up - not much of a surprise, actually - and now the Humvee is peppered with bullet holes all over, and Walt almost got beheaded by fucking cables. Now that is something Ray is not willing to accept, Walt's his brother, his teammate and his friend, so he takes that attack on him personally. It pisses him off. Pity there's nobody he could kill for it. Sometimes war really sucks, man. 

So, let's come full circle - now his cutie little Humvee is stuck in a fucking tar field with steel cables twisted around her axles and there's a fucking officer telling them to set their victor on fire. Yeah, _no_ \- Ray's glad Brad agrees with him on that, and Doc also seems ready to give that officer a piece of his mind. Which Ray would actually _love_ to see, he's pretty sure that he'd greatly enjoy Doc roasting somebody else for a change - Doc's really good at that, and if it's not Ray it's directed at, it's probably even more fun to witness. Back to the situation at hand - as long as there's still a chance to save One Alpha's Humvee, _nobody_ will abandon her, much less fry her to a crisp. Ray feels like spitting on the ground just to clearly express his disgust, but that would mean opening his mouth and then he'd be eating sand and probably spend hours chewing on the grains. Fuck this all. Yeah. _Fuck_ this! 

Ray is genuinely relieved when he sees Brinks from Motor T come towards them with his Army truck. Ray knows him well because Ray spent so much time tinkering with his Humvee and organising spare parts, so Motor T is actually a section Ray doesn't look down at as POGs, and he knows many of the older guys in Bravo don't either. And fact is that that Army truck should have no trouble pulling Ray's baby out of this fucking black goo that's begun to swallow her up. Yes, yes, Ray knows that the Humvee is still a piece of crap - now even more so than before, because getting shot up, wrapped in steel cables like a fucking turkey and then dunked in tar is _not_ exactly going to improve her condition - but she's _his_ piece of crap that he put a lot of work and money into, and right now she's in trouble and he will call her a piece of crap to her face again when he knows she's safe. Now the priority is to get her out of this fucking tar field and get moving again. 

It only takes minutes for the Motor T guys to winch the Humvee back out of the goo and on solid ground again, and all the while the rest of Bravo is still firing at the town behind them because the Hajjis haven't stopped shooting yet either. As soon as Brad, Doc, Walt and Reporter are back on board Ray starts the engine, relieved to hear it turn over, and then they're oscar mike again. They're a sorry sight, all of them, but One Alpha definitely got the worst of it. Fortunately the encampment for the night is only a few klicks away, because Ray's well aware that they need to do some serious maintenance before they're combat ready again. Everything from the Mark-19 to the axle needs attention. 

Ray's sure that the only thing he himself is running on right now is the Ripped Fuel still in his blood stream - okay, and a bit of dip, maybe some Nescafé, and a healthy dose of adrenaline. But that's going to fade soon, and Ray knows he's going to crash _hard_ when that happens. So he has two options now. Option one: He can risk the Wrath Of Doc - yes, that's capitalised - by taking more Ripped Fuel. Ray's still not sure why Doc's keeping quiet about his blatant substance abuse although he _very_ clearly disapproves of it to the point that he's threatening Ray with physical violence if he ingests just _one_ more capsule - he can hear Doc's voice saying that in his mind right now, and it's not a friendly sound. The easiest way to keep Ray from taking _any_ Ripped Fuel would be to either threaten to report him or to actually report him. The consequences would be dire enough that Ray might re-evaluate - not that he's going to tell Doc that. He's sure he knows anyway, but for some inexplicable reason Doc is not using that trump card.

Now, option two: Ray can try to actually sleep when they get to the encampment. But the problem with that option is that Ray knows he's not going to be able to fall asleep just like that, he never is, even when he crashes. His body goes down, but his mind keeps reeling and doesn't let him drift off. But for once he has an idea what might help with that issue: He wants Doc's awesome sleep medication effect to allow him to drift off and recharge. He wants to lie down with Doc wrapped around him like he did two nights ago. 

He wants his personal hot-Doc bottle.

But fuck, he _really_ doesn't know how to say that without Doc biting his head off. Calling him 'Ray's personal hot-Doc bottle' to his face is probably not going to help matters.


	22. Tim POV

  
"Does your throat hurt?" Tim asks while he lets his fingers feel along Hasser's neck, throat and the back of his skull.

"A bit, right in the front where the cables hit me the hardest." Hasser replies and obediently follows the movements Tim's hands guide him into. 

So far so good, there seems to be no serious damage. As soon as the first moments of relief and joy over their survival had passed and they settled down in the encampment, Tim pulled Hasser aside to check him over and make sure that he didn't take any damage from the cables that almost strangled him. At least there are no other injuries in the platoon, although it's completely beyond Tim how they could have gotten _that_ lucky. Given the bad odds and the fierceness of the firefight, not to mention the countless bullet holes that riddle all the Humvees, Tim should have had to patch up at least a few gunshot wounds, possibly even declare one or two men KIA. But instead here they are, whole and healthy, with just one man shot in the arm in the entire battalion. Fuck, they really got lucky beyond reason.

When Tim is done with Hasser and declares him better than expected given that he was strangulated by steel cables, Tim makes the rounds among the men, asks for any injuries - even minor ones like scratches or nicks or sore feet - and uses the time he spends patching the men up to find out how they're holding up. Overall he's quite content with the resilience of his men, but who worries him is Trombley. Lovell told Tim that he shows signs of a serious lack of empathy and complete indifference to other people's suffering, an unhealthy attraction to violence and a casualness about its consequences that concern him - all things that Tim has observed as well. He can't understand how anybody ever declared Trombley mentally fit to carry a weapon, never mind made him part of a combat unit like First Recon. Yes, he's aware that Trombley hasn't passed BRC yet, but the fact alone that a kid with psychopathic tendencies was considered for it in the first place disturbs him. 

As soon as Tim is satisfied that he has taken care of the men to the best degree possible given the circumstances, he returns to his Humvee and gets down to digging his ranger grave next to Person's and Reporter's. They're on fifty percent watch, which means that one man stands guard at the main gun and another on the berm while the rest get to sleep. Brad assigned Tim and Person the second watch while he and Hasser take the first. Obviously that means they only dig two ranger graves because only two men get to sleep at the same time. While he's digging Tim notices Person working on the Humvee, although it's too dark to see what exactly he's doing. Probably assessing the damage so that they know what they absolutely have to get fixed tomorrow before moving out.

When Tim has finished digging he goes to retrieve his sleeping bag and finds an unopened MRE bag sitting on his seat. Somebody took him into account when they got their rations form the supply truck while Tim was still patching up the men, and Tim gratefully takes the food over to his grave where he sits down with the feet in the hole. Reporter is doing the same thing in his own grave that still looks like a work in progress - he's clearly not used to digging holes - and they talk quietly while eating their not very pleasant meals. Tim is exhausted now that the adrenaline has worn off, and he feels every single one of the forty-five hours he's awake by now. He can tell that Reporter is running on fumes, and as soon as he has finished eating Reporter curls up in his unfinished hole in the ground and falls asleep in two minutes flat. 

Tim chuckles in quiet amusement and gathers his uneaten MRE components to put them in the Humvee's ratfuck bag, then he discards of the garbage in the prearranged bag they carry along. When he comes back he finds Person sitting with his feet in his own grave. He looks up at Tim and for a moment Tim thinks he wants to ask him something, but then he doesn't, just gives him a quick flash of an clearly exhausted grin and looks away when Tim lies down in his grave and pulls the sleeping bag over himself.

Tim easily notices that Person is shivering again, although it's not as strong as last time. He's definitely crashing - from adrenaline _and_ Ripped Fuel, because Tim is pretty sure that he hasn't taken any of that shit in hours. And since the sand storm has cooled down the air temperature considerably, Tim knows that Person won't get any sleep tonight if he doesn't get an external source of warmth. And if he doesn't get one, he'll most likely take a new dose of Ripped Fuel, which Tim _definitely_ wants to prevent. It's been over forty-four hours since Person last slept, his body absolutely _has_ to rest or it will become dangerous for him.

Tim stares up at the night sky for a minute or two, then he decides screw it, Person needs to sleep, and so does Tim himself. And considering the astonishingly positive effects of the last time they shared body heat, it would be foolish _not_ to make use of such a simple way to achieve a positive outcome just because of some kind of misplaced reservation. 

Tim sits up in the grave so that he can look over the edges and he spots Person still in the same position as before, as if he simply doesn't have the energy anymore to move into his grave, and there are visible shivers running through his body.

"Person." Tim says firmly but quietly, and he only continues when Person has turned around to look at him. "Get over here."

For a moment Person looks at him as if he's surprised by his words, but then - to Tim's genuine surprise - Person just smiles at him in response. Not grins or smirks, but actually _smiles_ , with something in his expression that might be exhausted relief.

 _Dimples_ , Tim finds himself thinking. Person has fucking _dimples_ when he smiles. Tim never noticed that before - not consciously, at least - and he can't help thinking that they look gorgeous on Person. _Shit!_ Tim must be way more sleep-deprived than he thought he is, because fuck, this is _Person_ he's thinking about. And the words 'Person' and 'gorgeous' don't belong in the same sentence.

While Tim is having this mental discussion with himself he notices that Person doesn't hesitate even for a second to come over to him. Tim folds back his sleeping bag in an invitation that feels strangely intimate despite the fact that they're both wearing layer upon layer of clothes and they're lying in a dirty hole in the ground. Tim pushes the feeling aside while he's shifting onto his side so that there's enough space for Person to lie down. Person lowers himself into the narrow grave so that he comes to rest on his side as well because it's the only way they'll both fit, and then he immediately wiggles back and forth until he's comfortable between Tim and the rough earthen wall, pressed with his back against Tim. Tim drapes the sleeping bag over both of them and Person takes a deep breath, then Tim feels him relax and melt against Tim in an almost content manner that for some reason reminds him of a satisfied cat.

"Nighty-night, Doc." Person mutters under his breath, his words a little slurred, and Tim's amazed to realise that he's out - not even a minute after lying down. It's a sure sign of how much his body needs proper sleep, and it reassures Tim that he just made the right call. He slowly puts his arm around Person's waist on top of the sleeping bag to make sure it stays wrapped around him, and then Tim allows himself to relax into his warmth and settle down to sleep the precious few hours they're granted.

"Night, Person." Tim finds himself whispering into the fabric of Person's MOPP suit although he knows Person doesn't hear it anymore.


	23. Walt POV

  


It's 0130 hours when Walt goes to wake Ray and Doc for their watch. He's very much looking forward to finally getting lie down himself, it's been way too long since he got any proper sleep. Brad is still on the berm and will only leave his position when his replacement arrives because he's the first line of defence while Walt on the main gun is the second, which is why it's Walt job to wake their teammates.

When Walt gets to the ranger graves excavated next to the Humvee, he spots immediately that one of the three graves it empty. Not like somebody just got up to take a piss, but like it never got used in the first place, there's no sleeping bag in it either. Walt can make out Reporter in his uneven grave by the front of the Humvee and in the grave next to him are two shapes - Ray, whose silhouette Walt would recognise everywhere, and Doc, who is easily identifiable by his bandana.

Walt passes his hands over his eyes to make sure he's not seeing things because he's so tired, but nope, he's not imagining it. They're _really_ combat cuddling. Huh. Interesting. 

Walt genuinely thought it was just a joke when he heard the others gossip about it, he though it was just one of those ways bored Marines entertain themselves. But no, it wasn't. He can see that now, considering that he's actually _looking_ at Ray and Doc sharing a ranger grave that should be too small for two grown men, but isn't because on one hand Ray is small and skinny, and on the other hand they're actually lying so close together that both of them resting on their sides barely take up more space than an average Marine lying on his back. And they even manage to look comfortable sandwiched together as they are in the narrow grave. 

In the darkness Walt can't make out any details, but when he kneels down next to the grave to shake the two inhabitants awake, he can see that Ray is snuggled completely underneath the sleeping bag while Doc's left arm is resting on top of it with his hand splayed out high on Ray's chest as if he's making sure that the sleeping bag can't slip down and expose Ray to the cold. Doc's face is barely visible because it's buried in the collar of Ray's MOPP suit, but to Walt it looks as if his forehead is touching Ray's hair and his nose is resting against Ray's neck. They're both breathing slowly and regularly, and Ray's face is slack in sleep. He seems completely out, which Walt knows is unusual because he has spent enough nights in Ray's immediate vicinity to know that he's a light and restless sleeper. It's nice to see Ray this relaxed for a change, because he's way too keyed up all the time, and Walt doubts that it's good for him in the long run. 

When Walt reaches down to touch Doc's shoulder to give it a shake he is almost jealous for a moment. He can imagine how nice and warm it must be under that sleeping bag, and he finds himself wishing that he had somebody to share body heat with as well - but usually it's Ray he does that with, and Ray's on watch now that Walt isn't, so that won't work out tonight. Not to mention that it seems that Ray found a _very_ devoted grave mate in Doc, surprising as that is, and Walt won't interfere with that if it means that one - Ray actually sleeps during this deployment, and two - Ray and Doc learn to get along when they're awake, too. Because they sure look comfortable now - and nothing like the bickering squabblers they are when they're awake. Now that seems like a sign, doesn't it?

Walt shakes himself out of his musing and reminds himself what he's here for. He jerks Doc hard enough that it's bound to shake Ray as well given how close they are, then he says, "Ray. Doc. Wake up. It's your watch."

Walt can tell that they both snap awake instantly in the way almost all of the men do, even if they don't move yet. 

Ray yawns once. "What time is it?"

"Approximately 0130 hours. You've had four and a half hours of sleep, isn't that amazing?" Walt doesn't bother to hide the irony in his words, although he knows that getting four and a half hours of uninterrupted sleep actually _is_ a small miracle in their current situation. He's very much ready to be the recipient of that miracle himself now, and he decides that he'll take their grave, it's bound to be nice and warm from their combined body heat. And since he has nobody to share the grave with him, he'll take whatever warmth he can get.

Doc pulls back the sleeping bag and then Ray climbs out of the grave first. Walt notices how Doc flaps the sleeping bag back over the grave once he himself has climbed out, and Walt is well aware that he's doing that to preserve the warmth for whoever comes next.

"I'll take the berm." Ray offers while he's stretching, and Walt can hear his spine pop. "I'll send Brad to you so that he can get his beauty sleep as well."

Both Walt and Doc nod when Ray takes his gear and then disappears around the Humvee to climb the berm directly behind it, where Brad is lying somewhere watching their sector. Walt watches how Doc also gets his gear and then jerks his chin at the ranger grave. "Hasser, you want the sleeping bag?"

Walt nods eagerly, and Doc chuckles before he climbs into One Alpha's turret to stand watch like Walt did before him. Walt doesn't lose any time to take off his kevlar, don his watch cap and then slip into the grave that Ray and Doc occupied before him. Oh yes, it is indeed still nice and warm, and the sleeping bag has retained their body heat as well, which is very pleasant given the cold night temperatures in this neck of the woods. Walt pulls it over him the best he can and sighs contently, and then he's already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya my dear reader ^^ Please make me happy with a wee word? I'd love any feedback you feel like giving me, no matter how short or long! :D *waits anxiously but full of hope*


	24. Brad POV

  
"That's where it's hanging up." Walt makes an unhappy sound and gestures at the Mark-19's sear assembly. "Now I get off maybe ten rounds before it jams."

"Yeah. This shit is totally ineffective in these conditions." Brad huffs in frustration while he passes his fingers over the components, and he can feel the many grains of sand in there that are a direct result of yesterday's shamal. "We need LSA. Pity we don't have any. Hand me the gun lube."

"Here." Walt replies and holds out the bottle to Brad.

"Thanks." Brad puts some of the oil on a rag and begins to work the Mark-19 - not that it will do much good, but it's better than nothing.

Ever since before sun up they've been working on repairing the Humvees. Every team has issues with their victors and their weapons that they need to sort out before they can roll out again, but One Alpha is undoubtedly the worst off after their collision with the steel cables and their unplanned bath in the sobka field. Ray is currently underneath the victor trying to undo the worst of the damage and removing any remaining cable bits that have twisted around the axle. Doc is changing one of their tyres and Brad and Walt are working on the Mark-19. It worries Brad that he can't rely on his victor's main weapon, but he's not sure how to change that as long as they don't have the supplies they need - like LSA.

"Brad?" Walt asks quietly after a few minutes of them working in silence.

"Yes, Walt?"

"Are you ordering Ray and Doc to share body heat as a bonding exercise because they bitch at each other so much in the Humvee?"

Brad turns to look at him with his eyebrows almost hitting his hairline because _what the fuck_? "Am I _what_? Who gave you _that_ idea?"

Walt just shrugs and keeps lubing the Mark-19. "It's a rumour going around, you know."

"Seriously, now?" Brad just rolls his eyes. "Do you chatterboxes have nothing more important to gossip about?"

"So, you're not making them huddle?" Walt looks at him almost curiously.

Brad just shakes his head incredulously. "What on earth makes you even believe that shit?"

"Well, I found them in the same ranger grave last night when I woke them for their watch shift." Walt shrugs again. "And given that I know what they're like in the Humvee it sounds more plausible that you ordered them to do that as a bonding exercise than that it was their own idea."

Brad has to admit that Walt has a point here, but more than that he finds it interesting to learn that Ray and Tim seem to be turning their combat cuddling into a habit. What's that saying? Once is an accident. Twice may be considered a coincidence. But three times is a pattern. Well, now they're one step away from establishing a pattern. "As plausible as that rumour may sound, Walt - no, I'm not ordering them to do that. It's all their own doing."

Walt seems pensive, then he nods slowly. "Well, they _did_ look really comfortable, although I still wonder how they managed to squeeze into the tiny fit of that ranger grave together. Ray may be reasonably small, but Doc isn't."

"Where there's a will there's a way, my young friend." Brad offers his wisdom with a tinge of amusement. "And there are several guys where you might wonder how they make it fit."

"Like Rudy and Pappy?" Walt wonders out loud. "They're both large, but somehow they always manage to get comfortable in one grave."

"They dig it a bit bigger, in case you haven't noticed." Brad remarks drily. "Which is why Manimal always wants to get _their_ ranger grave at watch change, because he has enough space to stretch out then."

"Makes sense." Walt admits and nods slowly, then he grins. "Ray and I still fit reasonably comfortably into a standard grave. Even together. Guess we're lucky."

"Yeah, you are." Brad sighs pointedly. "Believe me, I know what a pain it is when you always have to dig out a bigger hole because you can't fit in a standard grave without either your head, your knees or your feet sticking out."

Walt chuckles and returns his attention to the weapon they're cleaning. "You're just too tall, Brad."

Brad smirks while he's working the oily rag in his fingers over the metal. "Yeah, well, it has its perks, too."

They fall silent again and Brad allows himself to think about what he just learned. It's true that he noticed already last night, when Ray came to relieve him of his watch duty, that Ray seemed surprisingly well rested and chipper - same as after that night by the canal when Brad found Ray and Tim sharing body heat for the first time. Now that is a very interesting coincidence. He'll keep an eye on it, but it seems that sleeping in close contact with Tim has quite a positive effect on Ray, as if he manages to genuinely sleep in those rare instances. 

Whenever they're on fifty percent watch Brad will make sure to give them the same watch shifts from now on so that they're also free to sleep at the same time. With a bit of observation he should be able to find out whether there's some meat to his theory - and if there is, he'll make use of it to the greatest extent possible. He will _not_ let an opportunity like that go to waste with an unknown amount of time on the road still ahead of them. Any way to get Ray to rest that doesn't involve drugs or Ray crashing from exhaustion is very welcome in Brad's opinion - especially if it means that Ray will take less Ripped Fuel as a consequence, because he's _so_ much more agreeable when he's not high.

Now that Brad is thinking about it, it seems to him as if Doc is making sure Ray sleeps as much as possible given the circumstances - he's always on Ray's case about that, more than he is with the other men who admittedly don't overdo it with the stimulants the way Ray does. And Doc's not only keeping a close eye on Ray's Ripped Fuel consumption, but he's also keeping him from completely overdoing it by getting _really_ angry about it. Brad actually can't remember Ray taking any more Ripped Fuel yesterday since about the afternoon, when Doc almost exploded in Ray's face when he downed three more capsules and thereby passed well over the safe consumption limit for ephedrine. Seems that even Ray knows when not to push the Doc any further.

Out of the corner of his eye Brad notices that Doc has now made Ray sit on a crate next to the Humvee and is treating his burns like he's been doing regularly ever since Ray got injured. He's kneeling in front of Ray which gives him the perfect height to spread some kind of cream on Ray's face, and Brad can hear them bickering all throughout the procedure. To him it seems less like they're pissed off at each other and more like they're simply enjoying the verbal sparring. Again Brad finds himself wondering if they're fighting or flirting, and while he's pretty sure what his mind _and_ his gut are telling him, he's not sure he likes it. 

Complications. _So many_ complications. Missiles and oil fields just don't mix safely.

Before Brad can spend any more time thinking about the Ray-Tim situation, he spots the LT coming towards them. Time to let him know that the main weapon on his point vehicle is unreliable. Brad doubts that he can do much about it, it's not like the LT has any more access to the supplies they dearly need than the rest of the men do. That's on Casey Kasem and his prominent incompetence that he again demonstrated when he came by this morning offering his services as a combat stress instructor instead of doing what they _actually_ need him to do - as if any of the men would be willing to confide in that idiot. Brad would welcome him with open arms if he were bringing batteries and LSA instead of useless empty words, but Brad could see already from a distance that that was definitely not the case. Yeah, would have been too easy. 

But Marines make do - even if that means dealing with another incompetent moron in a position of power. Brad's glad that they at least have Fick as their platoon commander. Small mercies and such.


	25. Ray POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sings in Ray's voice* _'It's getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes...'_  
>  Okay, so after this chapter you will get an idea of why this fic has an 'Explicit' rating XD And it's only the beginning, there will be more (which I know because I've already written those bits XD). I hope you enjoy it ;D

  
Ray has just finished with the most urgent things he had on his mental list of what he had to check and repair on the Humvee when he notices Doc waving at him from where he's getting his medical bag out of the vehicle.

"Person. Come here for a sec." Doc says while he's already pulling on the first latex glove. "I need to check your burns before we head out."

Ray shrugs, he's done with his tasks anyway, the only thing he has left to do before they're oscar mike is to take a piss. Brad and Walt are still working on the Mark-19, so he figures there's enough time left that Doc can get his treatment session done in time for them to move out. He walks over to where Doc has set out two crates in the usual arrangement - one for Ray to sit on and one right next to it to hold the supplies Doc needs. He has already prepared the aloe ointment that Ray is quite familiar with by now, and Ray will admit that he likes that stuff, it eases the itching _so_ much. 

Ray sits down on the crate and gives Doc a grave look. "Tell me, Doc, am I going to make it?"

Doc snorts and pulls on the second glove. "Hard to tell, Corporal. Might be cutting it close."

Ray makes sure to sigh as heavily as possible. "Give it to me straight, Doc: What's the worst case scenario?"

"We'll have to amputate the head." Doc replies totally deadpan.

With those words Doc kneels in front of him just like all the times before when he treated Ray's burns because it gives him the perfect height to reach the injuries. Every time again Ray can't help noticing that he's almost between Ray's legs, and that the height is also perfect for kissing him - which Doc sadly doesn't show any intention of doing, though. Instead he takes hold of Ray's chin and angles his face so that he can inspect the burns on Ray's nose and his left cheek and forehead. Doc's grip is firm but gentle in a way that Ray has begun to associate with his touch. It's the only occasion when Doc ever touches him except for their sharing-body-heat thing, and Ray can admit that he likes how it feels. Doc's touch is... calming. Soothing. It's like it makes everything in Ray's head quiet down until he feels like he's not chasing his headless-chicken thoughts anymore, but can just watch them run around his brain, can just let them be - and that's even true when he's on Ripped Fuel, which is freaking amazing. 

Maybe in addition to the physical warmth it's one of the reasons why Ray sleeps so well when Doc's pressed against him - touching him, even if it's through dozens of layers of clothes. It would certainly explain why Ray managed to fall asleep so fast and why he felt so well rested those two times he combat cuddled with Doc. Because let him tell you, it worked like a charm last night. Ray couldn't believe his luck when Doc told Ray to come over to share his ranger grave after Ray had just chickened out of asking him. It felt _so fucking good_ to relax against his solid but comfortable frame in Ray's back, to soak up his warmth and allow his soothing touch to calm Ray's mind until his sleep medication effect made Ray fall asleep faster than should have been possible. 

Really, best hot-Doc bottle _ever_. Ray's _so_ going to keep him. 

"Looks good." Doc remarks when he's done with his inspection. "No infection, no oozing, no swelling."

His hand lets go of Ray's chin and Ray finds himself missing the contact almost instantly. To distract himself from the feeling Ray decides to pester Doc a bit. "So, does that mean that I get to keep my head after all, Doc?" 

Doc snorts and gives him a mocking look. "Sadly, yes. Any pain in the burns?"

"Nothing too bad." Ray replies honestly. "The itching is much worse."

"On a scale from one to ten, how bad is the itching?"

Ray shrugs. "About six to seven."

Doc looks at him for a moment before he nods slowly. "So you can live with it if you have to, but it would be nice to get rid of it if possible?"

Ray chuckles. "Yeah, that describes it pretty perfectly."

Doc squeezes a line of viscous liquid on the gauze out of the tube he set aside, then he reaches for the cotton swap he prepared and dips it in the substance. "Okay, then I'm going to apply another round of the aloe ointment, that should help with the itching."

"Can't wait for it." Ray replies with a grin, but he actually means it. He certainly wouldn't mind getting rid of that itch that covers a big part of his face. It's not exactly driving him crazy, but _is_ it annoying.

Just like he always does when he's spreading the ointment, Doc raises his left hand again and cradles Ray's uninjured cheek to keep him still, then the cool, moist cotton swab touches Ray's forehead. And just like every single time when it happens, Ray profoundly enjoys the sensation of Doc's large, warm palm against his jaw, even with the glove covering his hand. Ray can't help wondering what it would feel like to sense Doc's _bare_ fingers on his skin, without the barrier of the latex between them. Even with the little experience Ray's had with Doc's touch so far he can tell that Doc is a master at controlling and working his hands, which is obviously not _that_ much of a surprise given that he's a corpsman. But of course Ray's naughty mind has begun to explore what that would mean in the case of Doc touching him with an entirely different goal in mind than a medical check-up. He could probably play Ray like a master pianist handles a concert grand, make him lose his mind just by trailing his fingertips over Ray's skin... Hmm, now _that_ sounds very promising.

Same as always, Doc is focussing on his task, and it never fails to get him into that state of relaxed concentration that Ray already noticed the very first time Doc treated his burns. Ray likes how it makes the frown disappear, how calm Doc gets and how it always makes Ray sense this aura of competence and complete control that surrounds Doc. Right now he's looking at what he's doing, which gives Ray the opportunity to check out his eyes again, because of course Doc is a lot closer to Ray right now than he usually would ever be. Well, at least when they're awake. Because he's pretty fucking close to Ray when they're nut to butt in the ranger grave. Not that Ray is complaining about that in any way. Not _at all_.

And fuck, Doc's eyes are _gorgeous_. This time Ray pays them more attention, and he notices again that he really likes the dark blue colour, and that the lighter specks around the iris make for a fascinating look. Doc's gaze is calm and at ease in his concentration, no sign of the lingering annoyance, the long-suffering exasperation or the sharp anger that Ray sees directed at him so often. For a second Ray can't help wondering what Doc's eyes look like when he's smiling - do they crinkle around the corners? Do they light up and turn warm and soft? He doesn't know, and suddenly Ray becomes aware of the fact that he has never seen Doc smile before. _Genuinely_ smile. 

Huh. Ray will have to work on that. Makes for a great challenge, that's for sure. Yeah, he'll make a bet with himself: Before this deployment is over, he will make Doc give him a genuine smile. If he manages, he'll invite Doc out on a beer when they're back stateside, and if he doesn't, he'll have to promise Brad to never sing country music in his presence again. Yeah, that sure is motivation.

The thought of Doc smiling makes Ray's eyes flicker down to Doc's mouth. That damn moustache works so freaking well on him, it actually makes him even sexier than he already is, which Ray may have noticed before. Well, it's not _too_ difficult to notice given how creepy and sleazy pretty much all the other guys look with those horrible, cringeworthy dead worms over their upper lips. Ray's kind of glad that Sixta made them shave last night, because it was _not_ a pretty sight. Of course Doc pointedly disregarded that order and keeps flaunting his sexy moustache, and Ray's sure he's doing it in an act of wordless rebellion against command's stupid obsession with the grooming standard instead of relevant things like supplies or competent decisions. Well, he's the only guy in the platoon who can get away with it considering that as a member of the Navy he's not bound to Godfather's stupid annoying grooming standard. And Ray's glad for it, because _fuck_ does Doc look _good_.

Now that Ray's gaze takes in every detail of Doc's mouth up close like he usually never gets to be, he becomes aware of how full Doc's lips are, especially his bottom lip looks plump and soft, and Ray would _love_ to feel it against his. Yeah, Doc's lips look like they're _made_ for kissing - hours upon hours of kissing, everything from slow and lazy to hard and passionate. Ray bets Doc - _Tim_ \- is an extremely skilled kisser. He sure is a perfectionist, Ray can't imagine him being anything less than exceptional at using his lips and tongue. Ohhhh, now _that_ train of thought leads down an entirely different path of where else he'd be phenomenal when applying his lips and tongue. Ray feels heat rise inside him at the thought alone. _Oh yes_.

Ray imagines Doc - no, _Tim_ , he'd definitely call him _Tim_ at that point - on his knees in front of him - almost like he is now, just that Ray would be standing upright - and Tim would be looking up at him with those beautiful eyes of his, and the pupils would be blown so wide that they almost swallow the blue of his irises, and there'd be a mischievous glint in them. He'd have a firm, sure grip on Ray's hips, his thumbs pressing against Ray's hipbones to leave little marks as a reminder, and there'd be a little teasing smirk on his lips when he leans in, opens his mouth and engulfs Ray's dick, his soft full lips closing over Ray's flesh like the most sinful pleasure he's ever experienced. Ray can almost feel Tim's tongue on-

"Person, you feel okay?" Doc's voice very rudely interrupts Ray's most pleasant fantasy, and when Ray looks at him he finds Doc giving him a frown that Ray has learned means that he's concerned. He has stopped halfway through applying the ointment, the cotton swab hovering over Ray's cheek, but his hand is still cupping Ray's cheek. "You look a little flushed, and your pupils are dilated."

Ray has to clear his throat before he can speak. "I'm okay, Doc."

Doc obviously doesn't believe him and keeps watching him with that concerned frown, now with a bit of annoyance mixed in because he doesn't like it when people say they're fine when they clearly aren't. But Ray will instigate a full-blown argument before he'll tell Doc why he's flushed all of the sudden and what exactly it was that made his pupils dilate. Yeah, there's _no way_ he'll tell Doc the truth about _that_. He intends to survive this invasion, and getting killed by one of his teammates is _so_ not part of his plans for the future. And Doc's a fucking SARC, he'll know how to make it look like an accident.

"Have you been hydrating properly?" Doc is now looking Ray in the eye like he's trying to look at the bottom of his soul, and Ray can't help wishing that he'd move back from where he's still kneeling between Ray's legs because he's _so fucking close_ and _so perfectly positioned_ for Ray to lean in and kiss him - and that would get Ray killed for sure. Not to mention thrown out of the Corps. Which probably doesn't matter because he'd be dead before that can happen. Can he get dishonourably discharged posthumously?

"Yes, Mom." Ray replies when he realises that he's pondering if the pleasure of feeling _Tim's_ tempting full lips on his might be worth the repercussions. Time to distract himself from the temptation. Annoying Doc will sure help with that. "I've been drinking plenty of water, brushed my teeth, took a dump and will make sure to piss before we move out. And I'm wearing sensible shoes and I have an umbrella with me in case it rains, and a sweater for when it gets cold. Am I good, Mom?"

"If you don't tell me the truth, _young man_ , I will ground you for prom." Doc threatens, easily taking up Ray's dig instead of getting pissed off about being called 'Mom'. He keeps scrutinising Ray for a moment longer before he returns to his almost finished task of applying ointment to Ray's burns. He works in silence for a while, then his eyes flicker over to catch Ray's gaze. "How are your allergies, Person?"

 _Fucking call me Ray already._ Ray just barely manages to stop himself from saying those words out loud. But it's true, he wants Doc to use his first name - well, his middle name, really - like Doc does with Brad or Kocher or Rudy. He wants to hear it in his low gravelly voice and learn what that feels like. Fuck, Ray's _so_ screwed. 

"I'll live." Ray says instead of what he really _wants_ to say. He's pretty sure just because he tells Doc to call him 'Ray' that doesn't mean that he'll actually do it. He'll probably _not_ do it just to annoy Ray. 

Doc again clearly doesn't believe him, because he keeps digging while he's finishing with the ointment. "What symptoms do you have so far?"

Ray demonstratively rolls his eyes, but at least it'll distract Doc from asking again why Ray's so flushed all of the sudden - and that's a good enough reason to reply so that it keeps him distracted. "My nose is a bit runny, and my eyes sometimes tend to water, but so far that's it. Not bad enough to do anything about it."

When Doc finishes applying the ointment, he puts the cotton swab down on the crate and at the same time he lets go of Ray's cheek. "You let me know when it gets worse. And I mean right away, not when it has become so bad that you can barely drive." 

It's clearly not a request but an order, yet Ray can't resist the temptation to needle Doc a bit. "So it's too late when I'm breaking out the blindman's stick to drive?"

"Just a little." Doc cocks an eyebrow and the gesture is definitely a threat. "But rest assured, since I'm sitting _right behind you_ , I'm sure I'll notice when you reach the point that you can't see anymore because your eyes are watering so much and you can't breathe anymore because the snot is blocking your airways. I'll make sure to let Brad know when it's time to replace you as the driver." 

"It that a promise or a threat?" Ray asks with a pointedly innocent smile, and he tries to ignore that he can still feel the spot on his cheek where Doc's hand used to be.

"Make sure you don't find out." Doc replies casually while pulling off his gloves, and for some reason the calmness of the gesture makes it a lot more threatening than if Doc had shouted. But Ray's distracted from that effect by Doc's hands that he can now see without the white latex covering them, and damn, his fingers are long and elegant, yet they look strong and Ray can spot the odd callous, a clear sign of what he's doing for a living. What those hands could do to Ray... what these fingers would feel like wrapped around his dick, or stroking over his skin, or pushing inside him and massaging his prostate... He bets _Tim_ is really good at that, he could probably make Ray come just with his fingers in Ray's ass, without ever touching his dick... _Fuck_ , he needs to stop thinking about that _right now_ or he'll be blushing again and then Doc will never get off his case about it. And Ray's _still_ completely unwilling to let him know where the flush is coming from. 

"Well, thanks for the spa treatment, Doc." Ray says with a grin and gets up off the crate. Only when he's standing does he realise what position that puts them in with Doc still kneeling in front of him. _Oh shit, fuck, damn_ , he needs to get away from here _right now_ , especially because Doc has tilted his head back to be able to look at Ray and his mouth opened just a tiny bit and it's _so fucking hot_. Yeah, Ray's mind sure will work off of that picture. Ha, _jerk_ off of that picture!

"It's time for my pre-departure piss, so please excuse me." Ray gives Doc a mocking bow that he uses as an excuse to take a step to the side and bring some distance between them. "I'm sure you don't want me to pee in the Humvee because I didn't get to go before we head out."

"Yeah, don't _ever_ even _think_ about doing that, Person." Doc's voice is very dry when he says that while getting up off the ground, and Ray just knows there's going to be a threat following his words. "I'll give you a catheter made out of a bottle and plenty of duct tape."

Yep, there it is. And it's a good one. "That doesn't sound pleasant."

"It's not, I assure you." Doc's cocked eyebrow makes Ray wonder if he actually did that catheter thing before. Ray wouldn't put it past him - although it was probably because of a medical need paired with a lack of adequate supplies rather than as a way to torture some poor guy. At least he hopes so.

"I believe that right away." Ray remarks while he's watching Doc gather the used material in a garbage bag. "Have you ever done that before?"

Doc smirks, and damn, that looks evil. And _hot_. "Do you really want to know?"

"Kinky, Doc." Ray replies with a grin. "Yeah, so I'll go take a piss now."

"You do that." Doc says still with that smirk, and Ray can feel it go straight to his dick.

As casual as possible Ray turns around to walk away to take care of business, and he can still sense the heat in his cheeks. Okay, so Doc is hot. _Fucking hot_. And maybe _Ray_ is a little bit _hot for_ the Doc. For _Tim_. Damn, that name feels really good on his tongue. 

Ray's sure the man himself would do so, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, did you enjoy that? There's 'Ray's dirty mind' included in the tags for a reason... ;D


	26. Nate POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Nate POV! And again a scene from the series that I rewrote and changed quite a bit so that it fits my story. I hope you enjoy it ^_^

  
"Push your security out farther." Nate tells Brad and glances with a deep frown at Ar Rifa, the clearly hostile town they've stopped next to. "Let's make the best of this."

"Yes, sir." Brad nods and Nate is for the umpteenth time very grateful to have him as his TL.

"I'm going to find the Captain." Nate says and jerks his chin in the direction of the line of victors before he shouts, "Doc!"

"Coming, sir." Doc Bryan replies immediately while he's already turning towards One Alpha's Humvee to grab his medical bag. He clearly knows without words why Nate wants him along. 

Doc straps his kit on his back, then he's following Nate in a crouched run along the line of their victors. The fact that Hitman's not on comms doesn't necessarily mean that they were hit, but it could indicate that there's been some kind of incident that involves injuries, and Nate wants a corpsman along with him if that's the case. There's the odd impact of a bullet by their feet while they're making their way along Bravo Two's victors and back to Bravo Three following behind them, always on the lookout for the Captain's victor because they have no fucking idea where he is since he's not on comms.

The further they get, the fewer impacts there are, and Nate isn't sure if he's relieved or pissed off when he spots the Captain's Humvee parked randomly and without any formation next to Three-Two's victor. Schwetje is standing together with Griego a short distance from it, both of them hunched over a map. If the guy is alive, _why the fuck_ is he not on comms, especially when he's ordering the company to stop out in the open within range of a hostile town, smack in the middle of an elevated road that is a formidable target for snipers and RPG teams? Nate really wants to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he's running out of it already after a few days on the road and too many harebrained decisions. 

Nate doesn't hesitate to walk right up to Schwetje and Griego and interrupts whatever it is they're doing. "Skipper! What the fuck is going on here? You weren't on your comms."

The Captain looks up and then goes back to studying what Nate can now see is a map. He completely ignores Nate, and while that pisses Nate off, he knows he'll get the information he wants faster if he asks the men from team Three-Two. Kocher is standing closest to Nate, and he's currently looking through his binoculars.

"Kocher, what's going on?" Nate asks with a frown. He hates being left hanging like that, especially when it endangers his men. Kocher lowers the binoculars and looks at him.

"The Captain wants to call in a fire mission, sir." He relays and Nate can tell that he's very sceptical of that plan.

As if on cue the Captain walks up to them and says very decisively, "I'm going to call this one in _right now_."

Kocher takes a deep breath and then turns to face Schwetje. "Sir, that's a cunt hair over 200 meters, sir. That's danger-close for artillery."

"Danger-close?" Schwetje asks with an air of confusion around him, and Nate can't believe what he's hearing. The Captain _has got_ to be fucking with them. He can't seriously _not_ know what danger-close means. How did he even make it to officer in the first place?

Kocher manages to rein in his irritation a lot better than Nate is sure he himself is. Instead of calling the Captain out for his incompetence, Kocher grabs a military manual and opens it to the correct page before he hands it to Schwetje. "Sir, danger-close is an artillery strike within six hundred meters of a friendly position."

"That would be _us_." Nate hears Doc Bryan's very dry, sharp remark from somewhere behind him. Nate is sure that he's not imagining the disdain he can make out in Doc's voice, and he can't say that he's surprised that there's no love lost between Doc Bryan and the Captain. If Nate learned one thing about their corpsman, then it's that he doesn't respects a man for his rank but only for his competence and integrity - two qualities Schwetje sadly is lacking in. 

"Two hundred meters, that's pretty much on top of our heads." Kocher continues to explain with remarkable patience that Nate is sure he gets to practice a lot while dealing with McGraw. He's clearly attempting to convince Schwetje that it's a _very bad idea_ to call in that fire mission without being outright insubordinate. Instead of acknowledging what Kocher said, Schwetje turns back to Griego and the map, and Nate can't believe that he still wants to go through with this. 

Nate makes to move to interfere, but before he has any chance to say something, he sees Doc Bryan pass by him and push right into the Captain's space with a frown on his face. His voice is harsh but surprisingly low when he turns on the Captain. "Dumb motherfucker, sir. Even the most boot-fucked Marine knows danger-close."

"You're way out of line!" Griego snarls indignantly, and for a moment Nate can't quite believe what Doc Bryan just called Schwetje - not that he isn't right, though - then his respect for the corpsman rises another few notches. Kocher is already pulling Doc Bryan back by the shoulders, which is probably a good idea because Doc looks ready to say _much_ more, and that would get him in hot water even more than this comment already does. But Nate can admit that he's secretly pleased that Doc Bryan said something Nate never could without being relieved of his command instantly and thereby leaving his men entirely unprotected from the incompetence of their company commander. 

"I'm calling in that fire mission." Schwetje repeats firmly, although it seems to Nate as if he's a bit rattled by Doc Bryan's actions and words. He still reaches for his headset and seems intend on going through with his harebrained plan. 

Nate turns around to throw a quick glance at Doc Bryan, who Kocher is still holding back with one hand on the shoulder. The Doc catches his gaze immediately and steps closer, a deep frown on his face.

"Sir, I don't like this. These two get their fucking heads together, it's fucking dangerous!" Doc Bryan looks deeply concerned, he definitely knows just as well as Nate how deadly this situation can become. "It's the oldest play in the book: Officers calling in danger-close fire missions to get medals."

"Lieutenant Fick, you need to square these shitbirds away!" Griego shouts, clearly outraged by Doc Bryan's open criticism. "You need to NJP that man!"

Nate just gives Griego a cursory glance before he turns to the Captain. Ever since Griego almost first blinded and then shot Doc Bryan three days ago - something that did the rounds in Bravo Company _very_ quickly - Nate has noticed that the dislike and the wariness of the men towards Griego has increased exponentially, and Nate himself is not immune to that feeling. On top of that Nate would _never_ NJP Doc Bryan given the situation and how right he is with his assessment. Not to mention that there will be no need anymore to do that once that artillery strike hits and either kills or injures them all - _including_ Griego and Schwetje, because they're no more protected than the rest of the men, but they don't seem to have understood that yet. 

Nate _has_ to step in - even if that means direct insubordination. He can't stand by and let those two idiots drop the heat on the Bravo Company without at least _trying_ to stop them. He will _not_ let them kill his men without a fight.

And try he does, even goes so far to grab Schwetje's headset to keep him from making that call. But the Captain is completely unwilling to listen and has dug in his heels because of the open resistance he just got from the men. He feels like he lost his face and needs to make a point here, so he insists on his fire mission. But when Schwetje gives Nate the coordinates where he plans to order the strike Nate feels some of the tension leave his body. Schwetje has the wrong protocols - completely wrong, in fact, he won't ever get a fire mission approved with those, and Nate is not about to tell him that. 

Nate turns away from the Captain and Griego and begins to walk back to his own Humvee when he hears Schwetje trying to call in his fire mission that will never come to be. He's never before been so relieved that the company commander is not the brightest bulb in the box. 

Kocher comes up to Nate with a worried frown, closely followed by Doc Bryan. Since Kocher's own platoon commander is nowhere in sight and has no idea what's going on anyway, he seems intend on getting his orders from Nate. "Sir, should we dig in for the fire mission?"

"There won't be a fire mission." Nate replies and makes sure to keep his voice level so that his relief doesn't show. "Hitman's using the wrong protocols."

"There's a switch." Doc Bryan lets out a long breath and contrary to Nate he doesn't hide his relief or his disdain at all. "For once our asses get saved by sheer incompetence."

Kocher snorts and claps Doc Bryan on the shoulder. "Stay frosty, Tim."

Doc Bryan gives him a short nod, then Kocher turns back to his victor while Nate and Doc start making their way back to Bravo Two. Out of the corner of his eye Nate sees Doc walking next to him, and the anger still radiates off him in waves even if he's not saying anything. His silence lasts only until they're well out of earshot.

"He almost blew us up." Doc Bryan hisses under his breath, his voice low but sharp in a way Nate hasn't heard before. "There's no fucking cover anywhere here, and at just 200 metres distance the entire company would have been shredded by shrapnel. All for a fucking medal."

Nate knows he's supposed to stand by his superior officers, but he just _can't_ in the face of the overwhelming facts, and he finds that he trusts Doc with his doubt. "Yeah, I know."

Doc Bryan is silent next to him for a moment, then he says quietly, "Thank you, sir."

His words surprise Nate, and he turns to look at him with a questioning gaze. "What for? I didn't manage to accomplish anything."

"For stepping in. For _trying_." Doc's gaze is direct and frank, and Nate is humbled at the respect he can read in his eyes. Coming from Doc Bryan, it means a lot. "Not many officers would have done that."

Nate is not sure how to reply, so he just gives Doc a nod and says, "I want to come back from this tour with _all_ of my men."

Doc Bryan sighs quietly, and it sounds oddly weary to Nate. "Yeah, me too. For once."

The last two words tell Nate more than a long speech would have. Of course Doc Bryan has lost men before, as a corpsman he is always there when they lose somebody. He must have seen more men die without being able to help them than Nate can even imagine - and Nate is sure that quite a few fell victim to their own leaders' incompetence, a useless and unnecessary way to die which must be enraging beyond measure. And Doc is the one who declares them KIA when it happens in his care, which Nate imagines to be a burden that doesn't leave you even when you're off duty. Suddenly Nate understands a lot better why Doc Bryan was so confrontational with Schwetje, consequences for his own career be damned. He must have seen it all before. 

"Maybe between the two of us we manage to bring them all home." Nate offers in a quiet voice even if he knows that it's not really in their hands. They're both just tiny cogs in the big machine that is this war, and their influence is extremely limited, not to mention that there are many many things they have no influence on whatsoever.

Nate's sure Doc Bryan knows that just as well, but he still nods. "I sure hope so." 

They fall silent when they walk towards the victors of their platoon. Nate's mind returns to what just happened, and he knows he just overstepped to a degree that Schwetje is unlikely to ignore - and worse even, Griego. He's more dangerous than the Captain for the simple reason that he's more intelligent and more ambitious, and he never really liked Nate to begin with. This most recent episode certainly didn't help to improve their differences. Nate expects there to be consequences, Griego will make sure of that. 

"Sir." Doc Bryan says very quietly into Nate's thoughts when they're almost back to Bravo Two. His voice is firm when he makes a vague gesture behind them where Nate just committed pretty open insubordination. No doubt Doc Bryan is well aware that Nate's actions as well as his own may have serious consequences, but Nate can tell that he still stands by what they did. "If it comes down to it, I will stand by you. He would have injured or even killed us all."

Nate acknowledges Doc Bryan's words and the respect they show with a slow nod and a little smile, although he knows that he will never take Doc up on his offer. Nate is well aware that Doc Bryan can't really do anything and he's sure Doc knows that too, and Nate refuses to drag a good man like Tim Bryan down with him. He admits that it still feels good to know him in his back, though, and maybe that's what this is about.

"Let's hope it doesn't come down to it." Nate replies in an equally quiet voice when they come up to Two-One Alpha's Humvee, and their return to the platoon effectively cuts their conversation short. Doc Bryan gives him a long look that Nate can't quite interpret, then he nods and splits off to return to his duties with his team.

Nate resolutely pushes all thoughts about the recent events aside and concentrates on the situation at hand. Getting shot at while being bunched up in the open right next to a very hostile town is bound to be enough to keep him busy for a while.


	27. Tim POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all about Ray, Tim and the copulating ducks... XD Those who have read 'Generation Kill' know what I'm talking about - and those who haven't are in for some great fun... XD

  


"We're cleared to engage." Brad says loud enough for the other men to hear and then Bravo Two opens up. Tim focusses on his target and lets off controlled short bursts from his M-16. His volley is lost in the much greater firepower of the Mark-19 and the 50 cal rounds impacting the same spot on the parapet of the white building where they've spotted muzzle flashes. Part of the top of the structure crumbles and then collapses under the onslaught, which is pretty much a guarantee that the shooter won't fire at them again.

They've been here for hours now, on the road right outside this very hostile town called Ar Rifa, and it feels good to be able to return fire for once. Most of the time they don't actually have a target, and unlike _some people_ they're professionals and they _don't_ shoot if they don't have a target. That means they spend most of the time taking random fire from unknown sources without retaliating, but at least they moved into a slightly more fortified position behind this wall beside the road. It's not making that much of a difference, but it's better than nothing. 

Near the middle of the short wall segment Brad and Person are crouching down while Tim is in a similar position at one end of the segment and Poke is at the other. Behind them on the road the Humvees are parked with the main gunners aiming their weapons at the town, and the rest of the men are kneeling around the victors in a defensive position. So far nobody has been hit by either bullets or shrapnel, and Tim sure is glad about that. If fucking Encino Man had managed to call in that danger-close artillery strike Tim would either be dead now or very busy patching up wounds and collecting the dog tags of his killed brothers. If there's any justice in the world, Encino Man's and Casey Kasem's dog tags would have been among them.

"Damn, sucker. I just got some." Person says as the dust of the collapsed structure begins to clear and shows the havoc they wrecked on the building. Before he continues talking Person looks at Brad and makes sure to sound very dramatic. "Look at me, Brad. I'm a man now. Just like you. Except, I don't look like a faggot and talk all educated."

Brad doesn't dignify that with a reply, instead he just throws Person a pointed look before he gets up.

"Watch your sectors." Brad orders the men when he walks away, and Tim immediately moves into the abandoned spot to take Brad's place as is SOP. Lilley comes forward from his spot next to his victor and moves into Tim's place so that there's no weakness in their lines. 

As soon as Tim has crouched down next to Person, Person gives him what is probably supposed to be a sultry look and then blows him a kiss before he turns his head around again to look at the town over his iron sights. Tim just rolls his eyes and returns to watching his sector. But for a moment, for the fraction of a second, he's very much tempted to blow Person a kiss in return just to see the baffled look on his face. Yeah, he'd like to know how Person would react to _that_ \- because Person never gets paid back in kind for his dirty or openly suggestive quips. He pretty much always has the last word and so far Tim hasn't seen anybody up the ante and outdo Person in his provocations. 

He's definitely not used to it, so Tim assumes it would catch him off guard, and to manage that would fill Tim with a profound sense of satisfaction. His best guess is that there's no more than two ways how Person could react once he's caught himself - he could roll with the punch and let somebody else have the last word for once, acknowledging that he was beat. Or he could go one better until there's a game of one-upmanship underway where only the sky is the limit. Actually, that second option sounds more like Person.

Well, then it's probably a good thing that Tim didn't followed through on the urge to see how far Person is willing to push things just to have the last word after all. In the current scenario involving fake kisses it might result in something that reminds Tim a little too much of a game of gay chicken, and he's not sure he wants to know where they'd end up if Person is unwilling to back down and Tim won't do so either just on principle. 

Suddenly Person laughs beside Tim where he's now watching the city through his binoculars, and the sound pulls Tim out of his strange musings that he can only explain away with sleep deprivation.

"Doc, check it out!" Person sounds excited and Tim feels a bit wary because of the huge grin he can see on Person's face where it's not hidden behind the binoculars. He's sure Person did _not_ just spot a target. 

"Where?" Tim asks nevertheless because watching their sectors is their task and he knows better than to assume. It might be relevant, although he's pretty sure it isn't, at least from a professional point of view. He still lowers his M-16 and takes up his binoculars.

"Over there." Person replies, still grinning, and points to a spot near the barricades into the city. Tim dutifully turns his binoculars in that direction and tries to figure out what it is that caught Person's attention, because there are no people in sight anywhe- 

Oh. Okay, he knows what Person is looking at.

"Person...” Tim can't quite suppress the way his lips quirk. “Are those ducks...?"

"Yeah, they’re fucking." Person cuts in with a snort, obviously greatly enjoying the whole thing.

Tim hears himself chuckle under his breath before he can stop it. It's just too surreal how he's lying in wait behind a random wall with his M-16 at the ready and an entire platoon of firearms pointed at the very spot of a hostile city where he can see two duck fuck their brains out in front of them. Well, nature always runs its course. 

Tim can't help thinking that those ducks are in a strange way the physical manifestation of his very weird thoughts of the past minutes. They're like an embodiment of the result of the one-upmanship that would go on between him and Person. Yeah, they'd probably be humping like those ducks before either of them acknowledges defeat. He should probably never play gay chicken with Person.

Tim is slightly unsettled to realise that the thought is not nearly as repulsive as he thinks it ought to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate doing this, but I'm a bit desperate, so I'm doing it anyway: Would you _please please please_ leave me a wee comment? Just a word is enough. This is me _begging_ , because I really don't have any idea what you guys think of the so far 46.000 words of this fic... 
> 
> I spend so much time and effort and love on it and I have so much more content/fun/words coming, but this is becoming a bit disappointing and it's making me sad - and writing/reading fic is supposed to be something positive, isn't it? Instead it feels like I'm throwing my words into the void, you know, and they get carried away by the wind and I never know if those who read them enjoyed them... So please make me feel appreciated? A wee good mood boost? I'd be very very grateful! :D
> 
> At this point I want to thank my two very nice dedicated readers *waves and smiles, you know who you are* who always let me know what they think. You are my rocks and keep me motivated! ^_^


	28. Brad POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your lovely comments to the last chapter, my dear readers! You gave me such a boost, it's like I can't stop grinning :D I hope I can give you the same with this chapter - because we'll get plenty more Tim/Ray banter ^^ Ahh, I feel so inspired - I even got up at 5.30 am today so that I would manage to finish all my work today which means that I will have most of tomorrow to write! Yay!

  


"Oh. You should write this down, Reporter. See, the war's actually not about pussy. It's about NAMBLA. You know, North American Man-Boy Love Association." Ray says in that voice that Brad can identify as his I'm-high-like-a-kite voice. Brad hears a low huff of annoyance that he can easily identify as Doc's because he has heard it so many times since they stepped off that it's burned into his memory forever. And to be frank, Brad sympathises with Tim because Ray is even getting on Brad's nerves by now. His bullshit-talking has risen to levels that are completely inconceivable for a sane human being whose common sense is even remotely intact.

"See, places like Thailand where they used to fuck little boys and shit, they're drying up." Ray continues completely unfazed by Doc's too-subtle sign of displeasure. "We're opening up Iraq for a whole new supply of kids, man!"

"Person, if I didn't know that you have Ripped Fuel running through your veins right now instead of blood, I'd say you're brain-damaged." Doc grumbles, making no effort whatsoever to hide his irritation. His mood has been getting worse since in addition to lack of sleep they're now dealing with lack of food. Since yesterday their rations have been cut down to two meals a day because apparently even supplying food is too much to ask from command. Marines make do and such. And who needs to eat, anyway? Not that Brad is surprised, this is exactly why his team has been keeping a ratfuck bag since the very beginning. Brad knows from personal experience that there _always_ comes a point when you really _need_ the content of the ratfuck bag - to such a degree that you actually _want_ it.

"Oh, you've heard _nothing_ yet, Doc." Ray gives a laugh that sounds slightly maniac and gives Brad a very good idea of what's to come. "Let me elaborate on-"

"Ray, _please_!" Brad cuts in before Ray can go off on a tangent that nobody wants to hear. Not even Reporter seems eager to listen right now, and that says a lot. He doesn't even have his notebook out that Brad has seen him scribble into even in the darkness.

"What?" Ray tries his best to sound innocent and very much surprised by the interruption.

"I'm trying to gauge the approach to our target." Brad replies without looking up. Ray just snorts. 

"Right! 'Cause we're going to drive forty klicks off-road, in the dark, to an airfield with Republican Guard on it, _by ourselves_." Ray scoffs. "And they say that _I_ did too much acid in high school. Christ. The business end of Mattis's crack pipe must be hot to the fucking touch. Brad, listen, there's no way that we can go forty klicks here-"

Brad knows Ray has a point here, but he tunes him out in order to concentrate on the troop movement that just caught his attention on the Blue Force Tracker. On the screen he follows a unit that he can see riding on the MSR that runs next to their location when in the back of his consciousness the sound of gunshots registers.

"Get down!" Brad orders with sudden clarity about what is going to happen within the next few seconds. 

"Why?" Ray asks with a mulish expression on his face, but Brad has no time to deal with that now. They have a second or two, tops, before shit will hit the fan.

"Get down! Walt, down!" Brad shouts again, this time with the necessary urgency in his voice that all of the men in the victor follow his order on instinct. Walt dives down from the turret and ends up lying on the platform between Doc's and Reporter's seats. The fraction of a second later the first bullet hits their victor.

Brad counts the seconds to keep track of what's going on, and he gets to fourteen before the shots stop. It feels a lot longer than that, but he knows that's how time distorts in dangerous situations, which is exactly why he counted. Fourteen seconds, enough time for nine rounds to hit their victor according to his estimate. Based on the impact sounds he's sure that at least one of them penetrated their light armour. If those fucking idiots on the MSR shot up his team, Brad will be _very very_ pissed off. But right now his first priority is to warn the others in the battalion and clear up the situation before it gets worse than it already is, so he gets Ray's headset and radios in that this shooting is a matter of blue on blue fire. 

"Those are fucking reservists! I saw the markings!" Ray barks angrily next to him, and Brad is relieved about it because it lets him know without a doubt that Ray at least is very much _not_ injured.

Brad feels his own shoulders relax a little as soon as he gets the LT's confirmation that he has understood the situation and will take care of it the best they can. Now Brad can finally tend to his own men and make sure they're still all in one piece. He turns around with the headset still at his ear and looks at Reporter and Walt, who's getting up off the deck next to him. "You all right?" 

"Yeah, I think so." Reporter replies with a nod that doesn't hide the fact that he's a little shaken.

"Me too." Walt confirms and gets back up on the Mark-19.

"Doc? You good?" Ray enquires and Brad thinks he hears worry in his voice, which is understandable given that Tim is sitting where most of the bullets impacted with the Humvee, and he hasn't said a word so far. Out of the corner of his eye Brad sees Ray turn around to glance behind him as if he can't wait until he hears Tim's answer.

"Yeah, I'm okay." Doc says in a voice that lets Brad know that he's peeved. "But they shot our water cans."

Well, Brad thinks drily, that would be the round he heard penetrate their armour, then. They should be glad it only hit a water can instead of one of them or the explosives they're carrying.

"What?! Fucking assholes!" Ray swears and the tone he's using tells Brad that Ray's genuinely angry in a way he rarely gets.

"Yeah. At least one can is leaking big time. I'm soaked." Doc elaborates, sounding no better than Ray. 

Brad suppresses a sigh, because he can clearly envision the fun that's lying ahead of him if Ray and Doc get into it with _both_ of them pissed off for real. So far Doc was the only one genuinely angry while Ray kept spraying him with his high-strung bullshit. But if Ray is also in a pissy mood and aims to injure, then this could turn into a very nasty fight and that means Brad will have to run serious interference. For _hours_ , if he's unlucky. It won't pay if he gets to that damn airfield either without a corpsman or without an RTO.

Brad's radio crackles to life and he hears Encino Man's voice in his ear telling the company to move out, and Brad repeats the order to the team. "We're oscar mike."

"Damn it." Ray grumbles when he starts the engine, clearly in a very bad mood now. "Forty klicks, no fucking water!" 

Brad stays silent, but he actually agrees with Ray here.

"At least you're dry, Person." Doc huffs from the backseat. "I feel like I had somebody piss or bleed all over my legs."

"Did that actually ever happen to you?" Ray asks with a touch of twisted curiosity in his voice as if he can't help himself, and Brad rolls his eyes.

"Of course, Person." Doc fires back, still sounding mad. "I'm a fucking corpsman, I've gone though shit like that, and not just in training."

Before Ray and Doc can embark on one of their usual verbal fencing bouts - which seems like a pretty bad idea with both of them actually _genuinely_ pissed off - Brad is informed that a supply truck is down and they're ordered to stop. He passes the order on to Ray and thereby cuts right through his bickering with Doc and effectively puts an end to it. At least for now. The night is still long, they'll get back to it eventually. They always do. Their nightly combat cuddling sure didn't help with that.

"Start! Stop! Start! Stop! Jesus! I'm beginning to think Godfather's just a big cocktease." Ray curses and cusses and seems entirely happy to keep that up for a while. Brad ignores him and gets out of the vehicle to walk over to where he can already see the truck that the radio call referred to. He hears the sound of another door getting slammed shut and out of the corner of his eye he spots Doc following him, medical bag slung over one shoulder. 

"You guys all right?" Brad asks when he reaches the downed truck. There are two Marines already working on changing tyres while two more guys are rolling up a spare one.

"Hey Iceman." One of the guys says and Brad recognises him as Torkleson. "Can you believe those fucking reservists? They just shot us up."

"Everybody okay?" Doc asks when he joins them, and Brad can see him scan the men with that analytical gaze that Brad is used to from corpsmen. 

"Yeah, Doc. We're good." Torkleson replies and gestures at the truck. "They only shot up two of our tyres." 

"We should probably be glad that they're lousy shots." One of the other guys remarks with a sarcastic edge to his voice.

"It was shock trauma. A bunch of fucking doctors." The third guy complains, then he eyes Tim and back paddles. "No offence, Doc. But didn't you guys have to take an oath or some shit against fucking people up?"

"None taken." Doc replies casually and comes to stand next to the group. "Technically neither the original Hippocratic Oath nor its versions as sworn today contain the famous 'Do no harm' line. And as corpsman I only pledged to not knowingly permit harm to come to any _patient_ , so that leaves me free to shoot motherfuckers who're not in my care."

"I'll remember that next time I piss off a corpsman." The guy replies with a chuckle, but Brad can hear the careful edge underneath it that tells him the guy actually means it.

"Wise decision." Doc remarks drily. "My advice would be to become his patient _before_ you piss him off."

Brad is just about to organise some security for the guys while they're changing their tyres when Sixta struts up to them. His body language alone already tells Brad that this is not a friendly visit, and his impression is proven right when Sitxa orders them to abandon the truck. Brad can't quite believe that he really wants them to leave behind a fully loaded supply truck - unmanned and unprotected and right next to a hostile city - because of _two_ shot up tyres that could be taken care of in a reasonably short amount of time. But Sixta sure isn't joking, and he gets pissed when Torkleson dares to contradict him, which is of course his duty given that that truck and its contents are Torkleson's responsibility.

"What are you carrying?" Brad asks with a worried frown. Seriously, how can command even _consider_ leaving an entire supply truck behind?

"Battalion's chow, M-16s, ammo, four hundred pounds of C-4, couple of cases of Claymore mines, all kind of shit like that." Torkleson replies uneasily. He's clearly not okay with abandoning his truck. 

"You carrying water cans?" Doc enquires with sudden interest. "One of ours was just shot to smithereens and the content ended up on my pants instead of in our bellies."

"Sure, we have water cans." Torkleson says while he's already making his way to the back of the truck.

Doc follows him. "Mind if I take one? My victor is currently severely undersupplied and we have forty klicks of journey ahead of us." 

"Torkleson! Get your bubbies in a running truck and load up right now. You hear me?" Sixta's voice echoes over to them and seems to turn the balance in Doc's favour, because Torkleson just shrugs and reaches into the back of the truck.

He heaves out one of the large rectangular five gallon cans and hands it to Doc. "I doubt that the truck will still be here when we come back for it, so take the water. Better it's in your hands then in the Hajji's."

"Thanks." Doc says and doesn't hesitate to accept the can. Brad can tell that he shares Torkleson's assessment concerning the fate of the truck, and Brad sure agrees with them. Before they can say anything else, Sixta's voice can be heard again, shouting something that's not comprehensible over the distance. They get into gear and Brad heads with Doc back to their own victor.

"This is fucked-up." Doc mutters under his breath.

Brad just sighs. "Yeah, tell me about it."

Doc turns to look at him and then pointedly lifts the water can. "Well, at least our water issue is solved for now."

Brad raises an eyebrow. "Why so positive all of the sudden?"

Tim just shrugs. "A few days ago Rudy told me to focus on the good things to even out the bad. I thought this might be a good time to give it a shot."

Brad just snorts. "You're unhinged."

"No, just severely sleep-deprived." Doc chuckles, then they're approaching the Humvee and he shouts, "Hey Person!"

"Yeah?" Ray leans out of the window on the driver's side and eyes them quizzically.

"I got you a gift." Doc says and shows Ray the water can on his way to his own seat.

"No! Is that what I think it is?" Ray gapes, clearly very enthusiastic about his gift when he recognises what Doc has brought.

"Yeah." Doc replies while he's stowing their new can in the Humvee after pushing back the empty, leaking one. "Five gallons of drinking water, courtesy of the supply truck we're about to abandon."

"Awwwww, Doc, you're the best!" Ray coos, then he continues in a dramatically smitten voice, "Marry me?"

"I'm not that easy, Person." Doc's voice is very casual when he sits down in his seat behind Ray's, then he closes the door and gets his M-16 in position. "I expect to be wooed, wined and dined, meet the parents, and get properly proposed to with a ring, a heartfelt speech and of course you down on one knee." 

Walt snorts audibly in the turret, Reporter is chuckling and Brad rolls his eyes with a halfway suppressed smirk when he gets into the passenger seat.

"Noooo, Doc!" Ray whines loudly when he turns over the engine and begins driving. "You're refusing my proposal?"

"Sorry, Person but you'll have to work for a catch like me." Doc says firmly, but Brad knows him well enough to be able to hear the amusement hidden in his tone.

Complications, Brad finds himself thinking. Missiles and oil fields.

Brad decides to try to follow Tim's new, Rudy-supplied philosophy to see the good things: Doc and Ray may still be bickering, but at least they're not genuinely pissed off anymore, and that promises to make the next few hours a lot less unpleasant than they would have been otherwise. 

Not that he's sure that them flirting this openly is actually any easer to bear.


	29. Tim POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I just cracked 100.000 words! *dances around like a mad squirrel* Celebrate with me? :D

  
The Humvee climbs the berm just to sink down again almost immediately. It's on the upward movement that Tim gets a clear view of Person reaching for the plastic bottle that he keeps on the dashboard, the one that Tim knows contains Ripped Fuel even if he can't read the label in the darkness.

"One more capsule and that bottle goes flying out of the window, Person." Tim warns, and Person's hand stops on its way to grab the container. The Humvee bumps down again and Tim wonders how the fuck Person manages to keep it on course with just one hand on the wheel.

"Come on, Doc, cut me some slack here." Person whines and his hand creeps towards the bottle again as if Tim won't notice if he just moves slowly enough. "I've slept less than six hours in the past three days and I've been driving us through this shithole for over five hours!"

Person's fingertips touch the plastic when the Humvee goes up the next berm.

"Be careful, Person. Once I hold that bottle in my hand, it's gone for good." Tim makes sure that his tone leaves no doubt that he means it. Because he does - and Person must be well aware that Tim's sitting in the perfect position to get to the bottle if he decides to go for it. For a few more seconds Person hesitates, then the Humvee sinks into the next depression and Person puts his hand back on the wheel and leaves the Ripped Fuel where it is. 

"Wise choice." Tim remarks and allows the note of warning to remain in his voice. Had Person gripped that bottle, Tim would have gone after it and made good on his threat because Person has ingested eight capsules of that shit since they left the road by Ar Rifa about five hours ago, which means he's so far over the safety limit for ephedrine that driving is probably he last thing he should be doing. He's so jacked up that he's showing serious side effects, everything from mood swings to his speech being clipped by hyperactivity, and Tim is sure his blood pressure is elevated. Several times this night Tim's been seriously tempted to reach forward and press his fingertips to Person's pulse point to make sure that he's not subject to severe tachycardia as well. 

Tim is genuinely worried that Person might overdose if he takes any more stimulants before his body hasn't worked through at least a percentage of all the chemicals currently in his system. There's only so much a body can take, and Person has been pushing those boundaries for weeks, and in the nine days since they've rolled out of Matilda he's been actively trying to smash them to bits. Combined with copious amounts of Ripped Fuel, bad and too little food, too much sugar, dip, instant coffee crystals and - of course - little to no sleep, Person's body is burning through its precious few reserves a lot quicker than it should, and the excessive consumption of ephedrine might very well push him into a heart attack even at his young age. Tim understands why Person is risking it, he really does, but he will _not_ allow Person to overdose on his watch. Or at all.

It's not like Tim himself _doesn't_ feel the stress, the bad food, the lack of sleep and the general exhaustion that's beginning to wear on all of them. He does, just like they all do, he just deals with it differently - meaning _not_ by taking stimulants, especially not in such high doses that they're bordering on dangerous. Already when he was in college did Tim learn to master the art of power napping to supplement his overall sleep duration that fell to impressive lows during exam periods, and when he enlisted he found it to be a very useful skill to have, especially once he trained to become a SARC. Over time he's learned that for him twelve minutes is the ideal duration for the best results, and it's why he has the timer on his watch set to fourteen minutes and he's been using it whenever the opportunity arose throughout this deployment. 

Tim refuses to take stimulants like Ripped Fuel or dip simply because he knows what they do to the body, so his preferred source of getting an artificial energy boost is coffee. He loves a really strong coffee more than anything, and a study friend in college taught him to combine power naps with his penchant for strong coffee. His study buddy dubbed it the 'espresso nap', and during exam periods she and Tim would first drink a double espresso and then nap for fifteen minutes, and afterwards they were so energised that they usually got the best work of the day done. However, there's not been much opportunity to nap in the past twenty hours since Walt woke him from his four and half hours of sleep with Person pressed up against him, and even less of a chance to get a good strong coffee to combine it with, so Tim's beginning to feel the lack of sleep just like all the other men do. 

The Humvee crosses another berm, and Tim is by now so used to the motion of up and down and up and down that it barely registers anymore. Once more he's very very glad that he never had a tendency to get motion sick. His older sister does, and he knows she'd be puking her guts out if she was in this victor right now. He's seen it happen even on nice, neat, just slightly windy roads. 

As has been the case pretty much constantly tonight, the radio crackles to life and the LT's voice comes over the line. "Two One, this is Hitman Two. Interrogative, where is the turn? Over." 

"Hitman Two, this is Two One, it's coming right up, one zero zero metres, over." Brad replies although Tim knows he has no idea if that turn is actually coming up. Nobody does. They're fucking lost in fucking Iraq.

"Two One, it better be, I can assure you that Godfather's watching." The LT's reply is as much stern and threatening as it is worried. Fick certainly knows he has no more influence on the whole thing than that, though - all he can do is trust their point vehicle, which in this case means that they all, the entire battalion, put their trust in Person. Given his level of Ripped Fuel ingestion, Tim is surprised that he manages to sit still behind the wheel. Maybe the motions caused by the berms they're riding over is helping.

"Dude, I am so lost right now." Brad mutters while staring at the map like he's been doing for hours now, whenever he wasn't watching his sector or talking on the comms with the LT and the other victors. Tim sure understands why he's feeling lost - he himself does, too. They've been driving through the pitch black night for hours, with no road to guide them, no real landmarks, nothing but plains and bushes and sand seen through the green-tinged hues of the NVGs. Oh, and berms. Hundreds and hundreds of berms. Tim's beginning to hate berms.

"Don't worry about it buddy, I know where we're going." Person replies in that voice that Tim has learned to associate with him being very very jacked up on Ripped Fuel. Brad just throws Person a quick but clearly disbelieving look.

"We passed seven villages, there's one more." Person elaborates, and this time his voice has a different inflection, one that speaks of certainty and confidence. Tim wonders if he really knows where they are or if he's just really good at putting up a front. Brad seems unsure of what to believe just as much as Tim.

When Person continues speaking, his voice has shifted again to the I'm-fucking-high voice, but this time Tim means to hear a note of smugness underneath it all. "Hey Brad, do you remember the gay dog episode of South Park? The one where Sparky runs away 'cause he's humping all those other dogs and shit?"

"Yes, Ray I... I do remember it very well. But I don't see what relevance this has on our present status." Brad's voice sounds strained, as if he's trying not to snap because he clearly doesn't see where Person strange non-sequitur is going any more than Tim does. 

Person is quiet for a second, then he says very casually, "There's the hamlet, our turn." 

Person begins to turn the Humvee and Tim will admit that he's impressed. Maybe a bit awed that Person obviously kept track of their location throughout the entire time of driving off-road and in the dark, knowing that he had the entire battalion trailing him. Seems that Tim's impression that Person's sense of orientation is exceptionally good has just been proven correct.

"Hitman Two, this is Two One, we're making that turn now, over." Brad either doesn't manage or doesn't bother to hide the smug complacency in his voice. Maybe it's the lack of sleep getting to him, because usually Brad wouldn't let his voice reflect on comms how he's feeling about something. This time it's impossible not to notice, though, and Tim is sure that the LT picks up on it, too.

Fick just sounds relieved when he radios back, though. "Roger that. Nice job, over."

"Hey, Brad? Do your Big Gay Al for me." Person prompts Brad with a triumphant note in his voice. He knows he just pulled off the impossible - or what they all thought was impossible - and now he obviously wants his reward. "Come on, buddy! Do it for your old pal Ray, the one who made the right turn!"

Smugness. Tim just shakes his head and suppresses a smirk. So much smugness. But admittedly very much deserved smugness. Person really did a fantastic job tonight, and Tim is willing to admit that he himself wouldn't have been able to do what Person just did. 

Brad gives in after a moment, and Tim knows it's a sign of recognition of Person's great job even if Brad doesn't directly voice his praise. Instead he imitates Big Gay Al - yes, Tim knows that episode too, not that he will tell Person that - and says, "Well, hello there little pup! I'm Big Gay Al. Have you been outcast?"

Person laughs, clearly very pleased with his reward. "Fuck, yeah."

"In school I once wrote an article about a gay bar that opened up in a small town in Ohio. First of its kind there. People trashed it every night and in the end they had to close it after just a month." Reporter says with a shake of his head that could express everything from disapproval to disbelief, and Tim would bet that it's the vandalising people he's disapproving of. 

"That's so dumb, because, you see, Reporter, there's money in that." Person replies immediately without ever looking away from where he's driving. His tone of voice combined with the cadence tells Tim that sure as hell there's going to be some kind of crazy, absurd, high-strung rant following. Person is so high that he's practically levitating, and he's going to sprout bullshit that never should have seen the light of day. So to speak. "Did I tell you I'm gonna open my own gay bar when I get back home? It's gonna be called 'The Golden Stream', and it's gonna be, like, this big urinal, right? And there's gonna be this two-way mirror that everybody pisses against. That way, when you're sitting at the bar having drinks, there's like all these big fucking giant cocks just pissing right at you."

Tim just shakes his head in incredulous incomprehension, mostly directed at himself. How the fuck could he ever have thought, even for a moment, that Person is... That he's _attractive_? It must have been sleep deprivation. The bad food. Something. Because right now he doesn't see it anymore, the thing that he saw back on the road outside Ar Rifa, when they were crouched behind that short wall segment watching ducks fuck their brains out smack in the middle of a war and he was having the strangest musings about gay chicken.

Maybe it was the ducks. Or something in their water. It must have been _something_. Maybe Person's insanity is contagious. Like an airborne pathogen, and Tim's been exposed to the highest doses of it in this shitty Humvee for nine days now. That's probably a reasonable incubation period to assume. Fuck, Tim can feel how sleep-deprived he is simply by the strange ways in which his thoughts are operating right now.

"You know what, Reporter?" Person continues, still very much on a roll. "I'm gonna franchise that shit. You can have Ohio. Very lucrative territory, homosexually speaking."

Reporter just chuckles, clearly not offended at all. Tim's begun to think that it might be pretty much impossible to offend the guy. It's probably a good thing, considering that he's in a vehicle with Ray Person on Ripped Fuel.

"Ray, give it a rest." Brad sighs in a way that means that he's had enough of listening to Person's ongoing remarks. Tim sure would appreciate some quiet too, but he doesn't dare to hope given the amount of stimulants in Person's bloodstream. Brad once said that Person never shuts up when he's on Ripped Fuel, and so far Tim has only seen that statement proven right, so there's no reason to assume that it's going to be any different now.

It's not. 

According to Tim's watch it's 0332 hours when they get to the stipulated assembly area two klicks away from the airfield, and Person hasn't really shut up the entire time it took them to get there. And to make matters worse, he began singing again at some point, and this time not only Brad joined in, but Reporter too, and even Hasser in the turret. Yeah, Person's insanity is definitely contagious. Maybe Tim should do a study about that. The only good thing about Person's incessant talking delivered in varying volumes and the screeching pop song recitals is that it helped keeping Tim awake. No way was he going to be able to nod off with _that_ going on in his immediate vicinity. 

Once they've stopped the victors in a defensive perimeter at their assigned location close to the airfield, the LT informs them that they'll stay there while Alpha runs a recon mission on the airfield. Tim is glad that Alpha were assigned that task instead of Bravo because that means that he gets to sleep. Probably not for long, but he knows he _needs_ to sleep, even if it's just a power nap. He'll take it. He'll take whatever he can get. Every single minute will be cherished.

They split radio watch among the four of them, everybody taking it for forty-five minutes in turns so that they all get to sleep at least a short while before they're on the road again. Person goes first, followed by Brad and Hasser and then Tim. They pull down the cammie nets to break the Humvee's lines, but they stay in the victor because the order to roll out can come at a moment's notice and then they need to be oscar mike pretty much immediately. Tim curls up in his seat, trying to get as comfortable as possible, but it's fucking freezing by now, even with his fleece. He can see the clouds of his breath in front of his face, so he pulls up his neck gaiter as much as possible and even keeps on his kevlar. He drifts off to the thought that he much prefers sleeping in a ranger grave with Person's warm, comfortable weight pressed against him, but he's out before he can contemplate that thought in any way. 

It's still dark outside the Humvee and it seems like only minutes have passed when Hasser shakes him awake and hands him the radio. Tim snaps awake instantly like he's been trained to do, but he's groggy in a way that tells him even before he checks the time that he was ripped out of the middle of the deep sleep stage. That makes sense considering that he's been asleep for about two hours and fifteen minutes, which would put him about in the middle of the second sleep cycle, and that's not a good time to wake up. It's why he prefers to get around three hours, that means that he's completed two sleep cycles and that leaves him feeling refreshed instead of sluggish. Tim pushes those thoughts aside as he attaches the headset to his vest and listens to the infrequent messages coming over the radio.

The sun has risen and Tim's watch tells him it's 0620 hours when the LT comes up to the passenger side of the Humvee and shakes Brad awake to inform him that they're assaulting the airfield in less than ten mikes. They jump into action, roll up the cammie nets, drink some water, take a quick piss and get their weapons ready. Tim spots Person down four capsules of Ripped Fuel, but he doesn't say anything about it because now is not the time to bitch, not given the circumstances. He'll be on Person's case again later. 

They're oscar mike not even ten mikes later. Alpha, Bravo and Charlie come together to form a combined assault, spread out so that they're coming from different sides. Tim can see the other victors around them, some close by, some in the distance. Charlie is ahead of them, Alpha behind them. 

Just as they're approaching the airfield proper, Encino Man's voice comes over the radio. "All Hitman victors, this it Hitman Actual. Godfather Actual has declared all Iraqis hostile in proximity to the objective."

Tim curses under his breath. Godfather just declared the entire airfield a free fire zone. Fuck, there's a reason why that tactic was abandoned after Vietnam. This shit will cause more harm than good, it always does. Godfather just put the men in a shitty situation. For a moment Tim hopes that the LT's voice will come over the line and countermand the order for his platoon, but when the radio crackles to life, it's not with Fick's voice.

"Hitman Two-One Alpha, this is Two-Three." Lovell's voice sounds tinny over the comms. "Interrogative. Do I understand that right that they want us to shoot _any Iraqi_ on or around that airfield?" 

"Two-One Alpha, affirmative. _Everyone_ is declared hostile." Brad confirms, never looking away from his sector. "You see an Iraqi, light him the fuck up."

"Roger that." Lovell replies after a moment of silence that is just a second too long. To Tim he doesn't sound like he's comfortable with the new ROE. "Two-Three out."

Only half a minute later Tim hears shots ring out behind them but he doesn't pay it much attention. He keeps his focus on his sector, making sure that he doesn't miss anything, which is when Hasser informs them that the Mark-19 is jammed. Tim presses his mouth into a thin line, because isn't that fucking great? Now they're assaulting an airfield with suspected heavy weapons including tanks and they don't even have an operative main gun. Not that he's surprised anymore.

The victors of their platoon spread out so that they're driving next to each other in a wide-spread line when they're heading toward the berms that surround the airfield, then they're already on the tarmac racing towards the hangars in the distance. When they've stopped and have successfully seized the airfield, Tim hasn't fired a single shot because there's nothing to fire at. Sure, there are tanks, but they're stationary and the airfield is deserted, there's not a soul around.

Tim glances at the tanks and the AAA batteries with a wary feeling in his stomach. If those had been manned, they would have been toast. Most of the battalion would have been wiped out long before air support would have been able to help them. They got fucking lucky - again.

Tim hopes from the bottom of his heart that Godfather has enough brains not to confuse luck with skill, or their future will be dire. And probably pretty short.


	30. Walt POV

  
"I'm just saying I'm surprised is all, Brad. I mean, aren't you surprised?" Ray asks with the irony plain in his voice. 

Walt spots him tilt his head back so that he can look up to the Humvee where Brad is sitting on the roof cleaning the sear assembly of the Mark-19. "Shut the fuck up."

Walt himself is busy working on the Mark-19 to solve the problem of it jamming, and down on the ground next to the Humvee Doc and Gabe are sitting with their feet in one of the ranger graves. Gabe has the gun cleaning kit next to him and is taking apart his rifle while Doc is sorting through his medical bag and seems to be taking stock of its content. Walt knows that Doc has been treating shrivelled, stinky feet for quite some time before this, which explains why he seems to be taking such great pleasure in the non-stinky task of sorting medical supplies and noting them on a clipboard. Meanwhile Reporter is leaning with his back against the wheel and is scribbling in his notebook in profound concentration, probably only listening with half an ear as Walt has noticed he tends to do when he's working over his notes.

Ray is the only one not making himself useful. Instead he's lounging in Brad's ranger grave that Walt knows he chose because it's the largest since Brad always has to dig it bigger in order to fit. Ray has even made the effort to drag a duffel into the hole to lean against with his back to get more comfortable. There's something almost obscene in the way he's relaxing so unabashedly, it's something they aren't used to doing anymore. Walt is always surprised how quickly norms shift when you're on deployment, how things that you took for granted before suddenly become faraway luxuries and how hardships become so normal that you don't even see them as hardships anymore. Lack of food. Lack of fresh water. Lack of showers. No toilets. No beds. No rest. Sleep deprivation. Getting shot at. And the list goes on. The human mind never ceases to amaze Walt with its ability to adapt. 

"I mean, I'm betting that they were thinking that they could just, you know, leave a fully loaded supply truck lying around, just like you could anywhere in America, you know?" Ray goes on totally unfazed by Brad's attempt to make him shut up. "I mean, you park your unlocked car in Detroit or Baltimore, I mean, your shit's gonna be there _guaranteed_ when you get back from the day spa with your skin all exfoliated and shit, right?" Ray pauses for effect, and Walt sees Gabe smirk. He probably missed Ray's crazy rants. "I mean, seriously, homes, _why_ would our Iraqi brethren _want_ four hundred pounds of C-4, claymores, and crates of M-16s? I mean, it just doesn't make any sense. Oh, wait! You know, they could be using all that C-4 for, like, a giant 4th of July celebration. And in order to celebrate properly, they needed all our most _delicious_ MREs, because nothing spreads good mood like Pop-Tarts, Skittles and Combos. What do you think, Brad?"

"I think it's time for you to shut the fuck up." Brad replies with the air of a long-suffering pre-school teacher. Walt knows he gets that around Ray a lot when Ray's on Ripped Fuel like he clearly still is. Walt just enjoys listening to him sprout wildly funny theories, it's a bit like a stand-up comedy show.

"I just found out that half of our medical gear was on that truck." Doc grumbles and gives Ray dark look over his clipboard. "If you think being short on weapons or food is a problem, let's talk again once we have any kind of medical issue - or worse, an emergency."

"What, Doc, can't you improvise? Like, use bits of crates as splints and shit?" Ray asks with a seemingly innocent grin, but it's clearly a provocation. Walt gently shakes his head. Ray really likes playing with fire, and one day soon he will get burnt. And not in the reasonably harmless way of Rudy's stove exploding.

"Oh, I sure _know_ how to improvise." Doc cocks an eyebrow, and there's an edge to his voice. "I usually don't have a truck full of supplies trailing me on missions. Only what I can carry in my bag and what I can scrounge up."

"Like a bottle and plenty of duct tape?" Ray enquires ominously, the expression on his face something between wary and enlightened. 

"Among other things." Doc replies with a quick smirk that looks more than a little evil, clearly he knows exactly what Ray is referring to. Walt isn't quite sure that he wants to know what they're talking about. It sounds rather unpleasant. 

Before they can get into it, Brad cuts in. "What's our situation, Doc?"

Doc puts some bandages in his bag before he turns enough that he can look up to Brad. "Inventory has just begun, but as I said, according to current estimates over half of the battalion's medical supplies are gone. That concerns everything from medication to bandages to equipment."

"That's bad, I take it?" Reporter asks from his spot by the wheel, and it looks like he's back in the conversation with all of his attention. 

"As long as we don't have major medical issues of any kind, we're good." Doc shrugs, then he closes one compartment of his bag and opens another to continue sorting, always with his clipboard and pen ready. "But once we have wounded or sick to deal with, especially in greater numbers, we're pretty much screwed. We'll run out of... well, _everything_ pretty quickly." 

"What does that mean?" Reporter enquires, a worried frown on his face. 

"Worst case?" Doc looks at Reporter with a gaze that is as direct as it is hard, and Walt feels a shiver run down his spine when Doc says completely emotionlessly, "If we can't get support quickly in an emergency situation, we'll have to triage."

Walt swallows, and he can feel that the others are also just now becoming aware of what the loss of the supply truck _really_ means. Walt knows that triage is a last resort kind of thing, after all it means that Doc and the other corpsmen will have to decide who dies and who gets to live based on the best survival chances. Judging by the very unemotional way Doc is talking about it, Walt gets the feeling that he's had to do that before. 

"Is that really likely?" Gabe wants to know, and he looks like he can't quite believe that this is not just a bad joke.

"We've been discussing it. The other corpsmen and the battalion surgeon agree that it's a possibility that we have to be prepared for as long as we can't get replacements for the lost supplies." Doc shrugs again, but the gesture seems angry to Walt rather than casual. "And since that means we also need a new supply truck in addition to the content the old one was carrying, chances are not good that we'll get a replacement fast enough for it to make a difference." 

Before they can get into the topic any deeper, Sixta walks up to them and begins berating Gabe for losing his kevlar. Walt can't help seeing the irony of the fact that Gabe gets chewed out for the loss of a fucking _helmet_ while Godfather and Sixta ordered _an entire supply truck_ abandoned that might as a consequence cost lives because it forces the corpsmen to triage in the case of a medical emergency. He wonders who will berate Sixta and by extent Godfather for _that_. Probably nobody. As soon as Sixta has left Gabe says exactly what Walt has been thinking throughout Sixta's entire spittle-filled outburst - _'I'm not the idiot who lost a whole supply truck'_ \- and Walt laughs along with Ray, and he sees even Brad and Doc smirk. 

It's maybe twenty mikes later that Reporter suddenly peeks up and looks beyond the cammie net out to the berm that runs around most of the airfield. Walt follows his gaze and spots two black-clad women dragging a kind of makeshift litter made of blankets behind them. 

"What are they dragging? Think they want something?" Reporter wonders out loud and keeps watching the women approach on their position. 

Doc turns around and looks in the direction Reporter is staring. Walt immediately sees the subtle change in Doc's posture, as if he's picking up on something that the rest of them don't sense. A frown comes to his face, but not an angry one, more a concerned one. 

"Person, give me a hand." Doc says suddenly while he's already zipping his medical bag before he's getting up and starts walking, the pack slung over one shoulder. To Walt's surprise Ray instantly follows Doc's request that wasn't really a request, and he's out of Brad's grave within a second and trails behind Doc with his M-4 in hand. Maybe it's that note in Doc's voice, the one that Walt has learned means that he's utterly serious and will not fuck around. He seems to get it mostly if there are injuries involved. Walt definitely remembers it from when Ray's face was burnt by Rudy's stove. 

Reporter is also up and running to join them, and when Brad jumps off the Humvee to see what's going on, Walt follows behind him with his SAW ready in case he needs it. You never know, this could be one of those false surrenders to trick Marines that they've heard stories about, but something in the body language of the two women tells Walt that this is not a trick. There's fear and despair and urgency coming off them in waves, and that's not something you can fake. Not like that. It's reflected in their voices, and even if Walt can't understand their language, he sure understands the feelings.

Doc Bryan is quite a bit ahead of Walt and Brad when he holds out a hand to the women in the universal gesture for 'stop' while also saying it out loud. The women come to a halt and turn the blankets they've been dragging, and Walt can't suppress the gasp that's forced out of his lungs at what he's seeing.

Oh _fuck_. It's a boy. A _kid_ , maybe eleven or twelve years old. And he's covered in blood, his entire torso looks like it's drenched in red. Walt stares in something that feels like horror while he's approaching the scene, and there's an icy shiver first running down his spine and then progressing along his arms and legs. He's still staring when Doc has long since jumped into action and has begun to cut open the kid's clothes.

"Kid's been zipped with 556. Marines shot this kid." Doc assesses loud enough that Brad, Ray and Reporter, who're standing next to him, can hear it clearly. Walt sees how Doc grits his teeth for a second before he continues speaking although he never stops working on the kid. "Fucking jackasses. Trigger-happy motherfuckers."

Walt kind of knew it before Doc said it, knew that _they_ are to blame for this, but it still hits him like a punch to the gut. They shot a kid. They shot a fucking innocent _kid_. 

No, correct that to _two kids_ , because Walt sees two men approach, carrying another young boy who seems to have been shot as well. His leg is a bloody mess, and Walt sees Stiney, Lilley and Leon help the men put the boy on the ground and then they begin to check on him. In some distant corner of his mind Walt thinks that this is the basic trauma care training kicking in that Doc forced on them. 

"Doc, is there anything I can do?" Ray asks from where he is kneeling besides Doc and is watching him work with a deep frown. He seems to be unsettled in a way that Walt has never seen on him before. 

"Yeah." Doc replies and gives him a quick look. "Person, get me the battalion surgeon. We need to casevac this kid or he's dead."

"Done." Ray says with a nod and takes off in a a sprint. Walt hears his voice echo over to them when he passes Hitman Two's victor. "Christeson, Stafford, two stretchers to Doc, twelve o'clock!"

Walt feels utterly useless in the middle of the action. Q-Tip and Christeson come up to them each carrying one stretcher, and Walt can see the same horror come to their face that he still feels filling him. It's made worse by being unable to help in any way, he can only stand around and keep an eye out on their surroundings. Brad seems rattled too, which is very unusual in Walt's experience. They just watch Doc take care of the boy and listen to the assessment that Stiney passes on about the condition of the second kid. 

Walt sees Reporter walk up with Meesh, who he seems to have gone looking for after getting an initial grip on the situation. It's good thinking, Walt admits, because they sure need a translator to find out what happened here. 

"Why aren't they angry?" Reporter wonders while he's watching the scene, and Walt finds himself wondering the same thing.

"They are grateful to be liberated and welcome the Americans as friends." Meesh repeats his standard answer to just about everything, and Walt rolls his eyes in irritation because this is _not_ the right moment for that bullshit. Meesh shrugs before he continues. "These mistakes are unavoidable in war."

That was clearly the wrong thing to say, because for the first time since knowing him Walt hears Doc yell, and it leaves quite the impression. "Bullshit! We're fucking _Recon_ Marines!" 

Walt notices that even Meesh looks chastened, and that's quite the feat given that the guy has no morals whatsoever. Doc takes a breath and continues at a lower volume, but there's still harsh, blatant anger in his voice. "Our whole fucking job is to observe, not make these kinds of mistakes. And we don't fucking shoot unarmed kids." 

There's a moment of tense silence before Reporter turns to Meesh. "Where did this happen?"

Soon enough they have established the boys were shot while tending their camels, and then Q-Tip tells them that it was Trombley who shot the kids because he was the only one who fired while driving up to the airfield, and Stiney confirms that Trombley shot two bursts at men with camels from their victor on the approach to the airfield. Everybody on or around the airfield had been declared hostile after all, and Lovell had even made sure to confirm that with Brad.

Brad is listening with a growing expression of unease and guilt on his face, and to Walt it seems as if he's almost choking on it. Walt hasn't seen him like that before, so completely unlike his Iceman mask, and it's pretty unsettling. He wonders if Brad feels responsible because he reaffirmed the change in the ROE. Walt remembers hearing him say _'You see an Iraqi, light him the fuck up'_ to Lovell over the comms, and he's sure that Brad remembers it too, that he now feels like he's the one who gave Trombley the order to shoot those kids. 

Doc demands that Trombley comes and helps them carry the stretchers to see that his actions have consequences, to see what he has done, but Brad refuses on the grounds that Trombely was just executing orders. Doc narrows his eyes at Brad and insists in a way that makes even Walt wary despite the fact that Doc never even raises his voice. Maybe it's because of how he never stops working on the kid, his hands red from the boy's blood, a sharp contrast to his formerly white gloves. Suddenly he seems dangerous in a way he never did before, not even when operating his M-16, and Walt remembers that he learned during his first deployment that corpsmen in Recon units are often among the most highly trained men. In the end Lilley is sent to get Trombley. It seems that even Brad knows when to back off.

By now Ray has returned with the battalion surgeon, and he clearly also went to inform the LT who is walking up with them. They bring with them the info that Godfather has denied the request to casevac the boy, and Walt feels the news impact on all the men gathered around the boys like a direct artillery hit. The battalion surgeon clearly feels it too and decides to try again, but he returns with the same answer. 

Walt just can't believe it, not just that Godfather denies to casevac _a kid_ , but especially when it's a kid that _they shot_ in the first place based _on Godfather's orders_. It makes repulsion and disgust rise in Walt, because that's not how a decent human being behaves. You make a mistake, you owe up to it, and you try to make up for it the best possible. And if you make such a devastating, horrible mistake as they have, you are _obligated_ to do everything in your power. 

There's no opposition at all when the battalion surgeon suggests to hand the kid over into his care because he's billeted next to Godfather which means that Godfather will have to watch the boy die, and that might just change his order. Just in time Lilley returns with Trombley, and Doc very directly confronts the kid with his actions. He doesn't hesitate to tell Trombley that these are the 'men' he shot during the approach on the airfield, and that now Trombley will help them carry the boys.

Trombley doesn't show any reaction beyond something that Walt is tempted to call fascination paired with a hint of smugness. There's nothing that Walt would classify as regret or shock or guilt. It makes a cold shiver run down Walt's back, and he's very glad that he's not on the same team with Trombley, even if the guy is an outstanding shot considering that he managed to hit with almost all of his fired rounds a moving target about two hundred metres distant out of a vehicle speeding down a dirt road.

Fuck, that boy is a cold-on, deadeye killer.


	31. Tim POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters are going to be hard on poor Tim... I'm sure you're not surprised about that given where we are in the storyline.

The casevac to the field hospital of RCT-1 takes most of the day, especially because Alpha Two can't drive very fast with the two injured children and their immediate family in the victors. Furthermore they have to be careful while crossing thirty klicks of enemy territory with no support whatsoever, just this one platoon of five Humvees. They'll be of no use to the boys if they end up blown to bits by an RPG or a landmine. 

Tim tries his best to keep the boys alive, especially the younger one with the four gunshot wounds to the abdomen is worrying him. His older brother is stable and Tim was able to stop the bleeding, he'll definitely make it with the care of RCT-1's field hospital. As long as he escapes infection of his wound, he'll be good. The same can't be said about his younger brother, who keeps looking at Tim all throughout the drive with the light in his eyes fading more and more with every minute that passes. Tim is sure he's imagining the accusation he thinks he's seeing in the kid's eyes, but it still bores into his composure and he knows he will feel it like a thorn in his flesh for a long time to come. 

It's touch and go for a while, and Tim is utterly relieved when they arrive with the boy still breathing on his own. Members of the shock-trauma platoon serving at the field hospital are waiting for them when they arrive, ready to take the kids off their hands. A team of surgeons has a field OR prepared for immediate surgery for the younger boy, and Tim passes on any information he has about the kid's status when he hands him over into their care. 

The mother jumps off the back of the Humvee as soon as they unload her boy, and she turns back to Tim before she follows the stretcher. Tim doubts he will ever forget how she gently nods at him with her eyes wide and the tears still running down her face - she's _grateful_ to him when she should hate him, after all he's part of the invaders who shot her child for no other reason than that he's living near the airfield when they rolled past. The last Tim sees of the boy is his slender shape on a too-big stretcher disappearing in the tent. He knows he'll never learn if the kid made it.

Fawcett, the team leader of Alpha Two-Three who Tim's riding with, informs him that they will head out back to the airfield in thirty mikes, so Tim decides to make use of his short time with RCT-1's medical unit to try to restock his medical bag. When he mentions to the supply officer that his battalion has just lost half of its medical gear in a burnt supply truck - which the guy already knows about, because Marines are chatterboxes and word spreads fast - Tim's given permission to access their supplies, and he's very glad that he can fill up his bag to completeness again so that he's at least not short on the really important things he needs most often. 

One of the surgeons passes Tim on his way back to the Humvee and recognises him. He stops to let Tim know that they managed to stabilise the boy and will put him on a medevac bird within the next ten minutes. He's not out of the woods yet, but his chances are a lot better than they were just twenty minutes ago. Tim thanks the surgeon who just gives him a tired smile and leaves with the very true words that kids are always the toughest cases to deal with for those trying to save them, so he thought that Tim would like to know. Tim indeed appreciates his thoughtfulness immensely.

On their way back to the airfield the Humvees bumps over the uneven road and Tim just stares outside with a deep frown on his face, his M-16 at the ready and watching the sector he was assigned by Fawcett. On the outside Tim knows he appears calm and collected, but on the inside he is seething with anger to the point that he feels like it's choking him. But that's not all there is to it, there's also helplessness and nagging impotence mixed in, along with bitter disappointment and a sense of disillusion, as if he's losing faith in everything he believed in, including his own role in all of this. They're supposed to help, they're supposed to be the good guys. He feels childish for thinking like that, he knows the world is not that clear cut, it's not black and white, only hues over hues of various ever-changing, interlaced greys. But there is nothing grey about shooting unarmed kids, and nobody will ever convince him that there is.

Tim is reminded of the words of the RTC-1 surgeon. He knows part of why this is so hard on him is because it's always worse when children are involved. And it's made even worse by the fact that it was _Trombley_ who shot the shepherd boys - the one guy Tim's had a bad feeling about the entire time. That makes him feel like it's something he could have prevented, although Tim is well aware that's not true. He had no influence on what happened, nothing he could have done would have changed anything - it certainly wouldn't have prevented the shepherd kids getting shot. But the feeling is still there, festering in his stomach along with the memory of the light fading in the boy's eyes and the accusation he thought he saw there. _Justified_ accusation. 

What the fuck are they doing here? So far they've killed way more civilians than genuine enemies like Republican Guard or Fedayeen. That's not what they came here to do - to kill women and children and unarmed men simply because they're in the wrong place at the wrong time, because command _doesn't fucking care_ how much collateral damage there is to their airstrikes or if they declare everybody hostile and turn the AO into a free fire zone like they did during the assault on the airfield. Trombley may have pulled the trigger, but in the end what happened to the shepherd boys is on Godfather's head because he was the one who changed the ROE. Fuck, he didn't just _change_ the ROE, he fucking tossed them out of the window. 

Not that Tim thinks that Godfather cares. But he knows that if Godfather had continued to refuse to casevac the boys, that would have been _it_ for Tim. It would have been the final blow to his already undermined and constantly waning confidence in command, in the mission, in his very reason for being part of this war and even for being part of the military. At that point he was beginning to wonder if he was still going to be able to look himself in the mirror at the end of this tour, and his confidence in the leadership of not only Bravo Company but also First Recon in general was already hanging by a thread. He could tell that Brad and the LT were in a similar spot, and Tim can't help wondering if Godfather knew it, too. If he knew that he would have lost a highly skilled and experienced team leader, a very good officer and a highly trained and experienced corpsman over two kids - and that in the middle of an invasion. Not to mention that he would have lost any respect in the eyes of the rest of the men.

Yeah, Tim wonders if Godfather knew and did the math and came to the conclusion that saving the lives of two kids was an adequate price to pay for getting to keep his assets. He wonders if that was the reason why Godfather authorised the casevac - and not because it was the right thing to do or because it was _their fault_ in the first place that those kids were shot, but simply to keep the cogs in his machinery running the way he wants them to run. It makes Tim dislike the man even more, a sentiment that grew ever since Godfather ordered them to unsurrender the Iraqis who'd come to them for help at the train tracks - because Godfather thereby not only grossly violated the Geneva Convention, but he also _knowingly_ sent those men into the arms of the waiting death squads. And he didn't care at all. 

That was the moment Tim's confidence in command first genuinely cracked. All the missteps before that point could be explained and grudgingly accepted, but not _that_. Tim's a warrior, sure, but he's also a corpsman and he pledged _'to not knowingly permit harm to come to any patient'_ \- and the moment those Iraqis surrendered to them they were in his care. Godfather not only broke the Geneva Convention, he forced Tim to break his pledge, and that's not something Tim will _ever_ forgive. He has done and seen a lot of shit in his time in the Navy that he will lose sleep over for the rest of his life, but until that day he _never_ broke _any_ part of his corpsman's pledge for no other reason than inconvenience. Although there's that one time when the situation forced him to triage, and he will forever carry his decision with him to let one of his men die in order to safe three others. He knows he was technically doing the right thing, the thing he _had_ to do because he was responsible not just for one man, but for all four of his patients, and at the time he knew that one of them had extremely little chances of survival without an immediate casevac that they weren't getting because of some fucking officer who prioritised the secrecy of the mission over the lives of his men. 

To this day that situation is still a grey zone in Tim's mind, because while he did his duty to save his men, he also knowingly let one of them die, which he can't help but see as a violation of his corpsman's pledge - even if triage is part of his duties. And to make matters worse he lost another man in transport when the casevac finally arrived hours too late to really make a difference anymore. The only thing that helps him deal is that he knows it was a decision he made because they were caught between a rock and a hard place, and if he _hadn't_ triaged, all four men would have died because at the time nobody could tell when - or even if - they were getting that casevac they had requested, and Tim had only the supplies in his medical bag to keep them alive. It wasn't enough, not even close - especially not for an undefined length of time in the fucking wilderness given the severity and the number of injuries he had to take care of. So Tim made that decision because his hands were bound and there was no other option, not because of some fucking _schedule issues_ that might have hampered his chances to impress the higher-ups. 

It didn't make it any easier to stand in front of the two wives that now were widows, and to admit to them that he didn't save their husbands. That in one case he actively _decided_ not to help, and that it was all for nothing because another man still died. Sometimes he thinks what made it even worse is that both widows didn't blame him, that independently they told him that it's what their husbands would have wanted him to do, that _they_ gave _him_ an embrace meant to comfort when it was them who had lost their loved ones because he hadn't managed to save them. And both times he stood there in the middle of the cemetery in his service dress uniform with tears on his cheeks and humbled by the forgiveness they offered with their embrace, even though his stomach was still churning with a profound guilt that he hasn't quite managed to lose until this day.

This, though? Knowingly sending the Iraqis into the arms of the waiting death squads just because of Godfather's _schedule_? That's not a grey zone at all. That is nothing but a thirst for power and promotion and personal gain on Godfather's part, and to be forced to break his pledge because of _that_ makes Tim feel sullied, like he lost a part of his honour that he can't ever restore. He hates Godfather for it, for putting him in the position to either abandon his men - which he would never do - or to break his pledge. Tim chose his men, and he always will, but the bitterness of that choice hasn't eased at all since he made it.

All the shit that happened afterwards, all those harebrained or just plain bad decisions from command continually widened the crack, especially since the only goal they seem to serve is to get Godfather his full bird on the backs of the men. He disregards their well-being far beyond what can be deemed acceptable and risks them like expendable pawns in completely unnecessary moves just to further his standing with General Mattis - and he keeps getting lucky, _they_ keep getting lucky, which makes the gamble look like skill. 

There's this habit of sending them smack through the middle of hostile towns in their fucking _unarmoured_ piece of crap Humvees _without roofs or even doors_ when there are perfectly accessible ways _around_ the town, and all of that with no gain at all to their mission. There's the fact that they're riding in Humvee platoons in the first place despite being a Recon unit, and that they're sent where even LAVs and tanks failed before. There's abandoning a supply truck, leaving it behind unmanned and unprotected instead of giving the team the time to change their shot-up tyres - a supply truck that not only contained weapons and the main supply of their food but also half of the battalion's medical gear. There's that order to use their inadequate victors to assault an airfield suspected to hold thousands of heavily armed enemy troops _without completing any recon_ \- just to beat the British to the punch and piss on their parade instead of _collaborating_ as they should have. Oh, and let's not forget the decision to kick out the ROE. Seriously, Tim doesn't even have the words.

It's late afternoon by the time Tim returns to the airfield, and Smith, the driver of Alpha Two-Three, is so kind to pass by Bravo Two-One Alpha's location by the canal in the north to drop him off. Tim slings his medical bag over his shoulder when he gets out of the Humvee and gives Fawcett, Smith, Burris and Scott a wave and a quick thank you, then they drive off to return to their own assigned section. Tim turns to where One Alpha's Humvee is parked, the cammie nets down and breaking the lines of the vehicle to the point that it's almost invisible from the distance. It also provides shade, and Tim can see Person, Hasser and Reporter sitting together next to the Humvee with their feet in the ranger graves they dug this morning. Person and Hasser are cleaning their weapons while Reporter seems to be just chatting with them until he notices Tim approaching. 

"Did the boys make it?" Reporter asks when Tim has stepped under the cammie net. For once his notebook is nowhere in sight and he seems genuinely concerned. Tim can only assume that he's not used to dealing with gravely injured children, and Tim hopes he never will be.

"They made it to RCT-1's field hospital and the older boy got on a medevac bird, but the rest remains to be seen." Tim replies while he's storing his medical bag safely in the shade inside the Humvee. He has meds in there that don't handle direct sunlight and excessive heat too well, so there's no need to expose them to either any longer than necessary. "It's not like we'll ever learn what happened to them. They live, they die - we'll never know."

Tim makes sure that his voice doesn't betray the raw anger, the pent-up frustration and the all-consuming resignation that roll around his belly all bunched up in one nasty mixture. He can't let it out or he will never stop, and now is _not_ the time for that.

Tim takes his M-16 and sits down next to Hasser and the cleaning kit, then he begins to methodically take his rifle apart and cleans it thoroughly. It's a routine that always calms him, and he allows it to take over while he listens with half an ear to the chatter between Person, Hasser and Reporter. They leave him be and don't try to make him join their conversation, which he's grateful for because he knows he's not a particularly good conversational partner at the moment. 

When the sun begins to set, the LT calls all the men of Bravo Two together to address the events of this morning when they charged the airfield. He takes responsibility, owns up to what happened, says it was _his_ mistake that he let the change of the ROE stand, that he didn't countermand the call that declared everybody hostile. He reminds them that they can't get hung up on what happened, they can't hesitate the next time or it might cost them and their fellow Marines their lives. No re-evaluating and second-guessing after the fact - it helps nobody, especially not them. Tim knows he's right and he appreciates the LT's effort, but it doesn't make him feel better in any way. He can still see the light fading that kid's eyes, and he knows he will continue to do so for a long time to come. 

They're on fifty percent watch that night, and Brad assigned Tim and Person the first watch, which is why Tim spends the evening and half of the night on a berm watching their surroundings while Person is lying a few feet away from him doing the same in surprising silence. Tim noticed that Person made an effort not to annoy Tim ever since the injured boys were brought to them and Tim appreciates it because he might have reacted badly today. _Genuinely_ badly in a way even Person doesn't deserve, especially when he's not actually at fault for what is wrong with Tim, when he's - for once - entirely _not_ to blame for the shit that happened and that makes Tim so fucking _furious_. He's not the reason why Tim feels this helplessness at their fucked-up situation and their even more fucked-up and utterly incompetent command. No, nothing of that is in any way Person's fault, but he sure would have caught the heat for it if he had pissed Tim off today, and he doesn't deserve that.

It's past midnight when Brad and Hasser take over for Tim and Person. They got to sleep five hours and now Tim and Person will be given the same luxury if nothing happens tonight to cut their sleep time short. Person disappears with the info that he will take a dump, and Tim claims Brad's large ranger grave and puts his sleeping bag inside. It's again fucking cold, somewhere close to freezing, and Tim can see Reporter curled up into a ball in his own ranger grave, almost entirely hidden beneath his own sleeping bag, and every breath he takes is showing as a small cloud.

Tim lies down on the cold earth and stares up towards the sky. Through the holes in the cammie net he can see a vast number of stars, way more than you can see in Oceanside or in Philadelphia because there's almost no artificial light out here. It should feel serene and peaceful, but Tim still has that nasty mixture of anger, frustration and resignation simmering in his stomach, and despite the fact that he's severely sleep-deprived and so very very tired, he can't fall asleep. He's angry at himself that he's wasting precious time on brooding instead of sleeping, something that won't help his situation at all. It won't undo what happened to the shepherd boys, it won't change fucking command, it won't change the nature of war. It's just a waste of sleep.

Tim is pulled out of his thoughts when he hears Person's boots crunch on the ground when he steps under the cammie net and walks over to the Humvee. He putters around in the vehicle for a moment, then Tim hears him come over to the empty grave besides Tim's. For the fraction of a second Tim hesitates, then he follows his instincts and sits up in his grave enough that he can see Person, who's just unfurling his sleeping bag.

"Person." Tim says just loud enough to get Person's attention without disturbing Reporter who is sleeping in his still quite misshapen grave close by. Person turns to look at him, and Tim pointedly lifts a corner of his sleeping bag and shifts to one side in his grave in a wordless invitation. Because this time it's an _offer_ , not an _order_. Tim knows that Person is not currently crashing from his stimulant abuse, nor from adrenaline. Sure, he's just as tired as all the men are, but he's not in a condition that requires him to either get an external heat source to sleep or to take a new dose of Ripped Fuel to take off the edge. He doesn't _need_ what Tim is offering, and Tim is absolutely sure that he knows that. If Person comes to him now, it's because he _wants_ to.

Person doesn't hesitate at all, he just takes his sleeping bag, unzips it and shakes it out on top of Tim's so that they'll have both sleeping bags covering them. Then Person climbs into Brad's nice large grave and lies down in front of Tim under the two sleeping bags. He presses with his back against Tim in a way that has already become a routine, and Tim pulls the sleeping bags over them up to their shoulders. This time Tim slips his arm underneath the covers and then wraps it around Person's waist, and _maybe_ he holds on a little tighter than strictly necessary. Person doesn't seem bothered by it, though, instead he uses it as an excuse to shift a little until he's pressed even closer to Tim. 

The warmth between them builds quickly with the double protection of two sleeping bags covering them. Tim feels Person take a deep breath, and when he lets it escape there's a content gentle little sigh, but he doesn't say anything, and Tim is grateful for it. Person relaxes on the exhale until he's a warm, pliant weight against Tim's body, and for some inexplicable reason Tim finds himself relax along with Person and fall in sync with his breathing. His familiar shape and weight against Tim feel... comforting. Calming. Grounding. _Good_. Tim can feel the churning in his stomach settle until it doesn't keep his mind from unwinding anymore. Person is breathing regularly and slowly, a good sign that he has already nodded off, and Tim finds he's breathing easier in sync with Ray, and he senses the tendrils of sleep taking hold of him after all. Tim buries his nose against the warmth of the back of Person's neck, closes his eyes and allows himself to drift off. 

You don't question a good thing in the middle of a war zone - even if it comes in the shape of Ray Person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took me so long to post the next chapter, the week has been very draining so far and tomorrow is going to be more of the same. Do you maybe feel like leaving me a wee word? I could really do with a pick-me-up...


	32. Ray POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scents that Ray associates with Tim are based on _military_bluebells_ 's ideas, and I got permission to use them. Thanks for that, hon! Your inspirations were too good to resist :D

  
Ray feels warm and comfy when he wakes. It's a luxury that he's not used to anymore - being warm during the night _and_ waking on his own, slowly, with nobody shaking him or shouting at him to get the fuck up. He wallows in it, takes a deep breath of cold air and allows it to waken him a bit more, to refresh him from the inside.

There's a note of something in that air he breathes in, and it takes him a moment to recognise it as another person's scent. Definitely male, and close by. Ray opens his eyes and finds himself looking smack against a wall of earth. There's sunlight playing over the ground around him, and its hue in combination with the coldness of the air tells him that it's very early in the morning, probably just after sunrise. That would explain why nobody woke him yet, because he has till about 0630 hours before Brad's and Walt's watch shift ends. 

Oh, right, _that's_ why it's so nice and warm - Doc is still sleeping curled up to Ray in the ranger grave. He's pressed close to Ray's back and he's still holding onto Ray, his arm wrapped around Ray's waist under their sleeping bags and his hand is bunched in the front of Ray's MOPP suit in a loose fist. Ray can feel his warm breath against the back of his neck, over the seam of his neck gaiter. Actually, he even feels the tip of Doc's nose touching his skin, and he sure likes the sensation. 

And _hello_ there. Somebody's _very_ happy to see him. Even through the many bulky layers of their MOPP suits Ray can feel something hard dig into his ass that can only be _Tim's_ morning wood, because he's sure _Tim_ didn't bring a gun in his pocket to the grave. Yeah, Ray decides, he'll refuse to refer to him by his title under these _intimate_ conditions. Ray's own boner is pressing against his pants, but it's not like Tim can feel that, so he's good. He's not the one who'll wake up embarrassed that his dick has been trying to make friends another guy's ass. Not that he thinks Tim will be embarrassed. The guy's a medical professional, he knows perfectly well that this is a natural reaction and has in fact nothing to do with the company he's in. Not that Ray would mind if it _had_ something to do with _him_.

So, Ray concludes, it's Tim's scent he's been noticing when he woke up. It's surprisingly subtle considering that none of them have been able to wash in a while, and Ray finds himself breathe in again just to get another whiff of it. If he had to put it into words - which he thinks is a difficult thing to do with something as complex and as fundamentally non-verbal as scent - then he'd describe it as a mixture of warm fresh earth with a hint of cinnamon and a touch of whiskey. It's somehow warm, comforting and fierce yet elusive at the same time. The only clear thing about it is that note of antiseptic that always seems to cling to Tim for obvious reasons. In fact, now that he thinks about it, Ray noticed that he's reminded of Tim every time he smells antiseptic.

Ray decides to just remain lying where he is until either Tim wakes or somebody comes to make them get up. He cuddles back into Tim's beautiful warmth - and his boner - and takes another deep breath just because he can. _Fuck_ , but he really likes Tim's scent. He smells fucking amazing, and that's not something Ray ever expected to say about a guy who's been wearing the same clothes for the past ten days and hasn't had a shower in about the same timeframe, only baby wipe 'washes' that Doc seems to take seriously. Maybe Ray's nose is broken. Like, so damaged that stinky things actually smell like roses to him. Not that there's actually even a hint of roses to Tim's scent, at least not to Ray's nose. But since we're right now establishing that his nose might be broken, he can't be sure. He wonders if he should ask Walt about that. Definitely not Brad though, he might think that Ray has finally lost _all_ his marbles if Ray prompts him to sniff Doc and tell Ray if he smells of roses.

Ray closes his eyes again to enjoy the few minutes of peace and relaxation he has left. He can hear the men move around all over their encampment by the airfield, but nobody is coming for Ray and his hot-Doc bottle yet. His mind is quiet in the way it always is when Tim's touching him, and Ray enjoys the moment of reprieve because he knows it won't last. As soon as they get up, as soon as the day starts for real, his headless-chicken-thoughts will be doing their unhinged dance routines again. And as soon as he has taken any Ripped Fuel, he'll be fast enough to follow all of them and relay a portion of them to the outside world, at which Doc will only roll his eyes or growl a threat under his breath. Anyway, it won't be anything like this moment, where they're so close that Ray can sense against his back every breath Tim takes, where he can feel the weight of Tim's arm around his waist, the warm tip of his nose touch his neck and his gentle warm breath whisper over the skin. Well, and his dick against Ray's ass, if that list is supposed to be complete rather than romantic.

Ray knows that last night was different from all those other times before when they shared a ranger grave. Doc didn't order him over because Ray was crashing from Ripped Fuel and shivering like a drenched cat left outside in winter, as Doc put it so nicely that first time. No, last night Doc extended an offer, an invitation, and Ray could have rejected it without consequences, without Doc pushing. But the thought of refusing him never even came to Ray, because why the fuck would he ever give up on the opportunity to sleep somewhere nice, warm and comfy? Not to mention that last night Ray had the distinct impression that for once it was about Doc more than about Ray, like Tim might need the comfort of their shared ranger grave just as much as Ray did the two times beforehand. Not that it was voiced in any way, but Ray _knew_. He'd been watching Doc all day, after all.

When Doc came back late yesterday afternoon from his casevac run to RCT-1's field hospital, Ray could tell right away that there was something _off_ about him. His movements were clipped when he walked over to where Ray, Walt and Reporter were sitting in the shade under the cammie net. Ray followed Doc's approach with his gaze and noticed how stiff his posture was and how tense the lines of his shoulders were, how deep and genuine the frown on his face. Until Reporter asked after the kids, Ray couldn't help wondering if maybe the boy with the gut shots had already died on the way to the field hospital. He was relieved to hear that the kid was still alive and might recover, but that didn't explain Doc's condition. 

For the rest of the day Doc was more quiet than he usually is, but to Ray he seemed drawn and taut, not calm. The frown never once left his expression and only grew deeper over the course of the rest of the day. Ray made sure not to annoy him - not because he feared his reaction, but because it felt _wrong_. Like kicking a man when he's down - not that Doc was a man down, physically speaking, Ray's pretty sure he could still whip Ray's ass if he wanted to. No, it's more like he was hit by the whole thing more than most of the men except maybe for Brad, and he needed to deal with the shit that happened that morning before he was ready to be his usual composed, sharp-tongued self again. And Ray may be a jerk from time to time, but he's not cruel. Doc is still his teammate, and that means that you have each other's back even if you may not always get along. So Ray kept an eye on Doc but left him be otherwise, which he seemed to appreciate. 

Trombley wisely made sure to stay far far away from Doc ever since he came back from the casevac trip, and the boy's been shunned by most of the men since the news made the rounds that he's the one who shot those kids. Ray's not quite sure what to make of Trombley, the kid definitely has some psycho tendencies according to what Ray has observed and what he has heard from Stiney, T, Shady and Lovell. He's also an exceptional shot considering what he pulled off in order to hit those kids, and Ray's willing to admit that, but he's still weirded out by the guy's complete lack of empathy and his blatant desire for violence that somehow feels very different than the shit that most of the guys sprout about wanting to shoot some motherfuckers. 

The kid's no match for an experienced warrior like Doc, though, and he seems to be aware of that. Ray knows that Doc never gave Trombley's ribcage a nick and never went for his throat. Ray was there when Reporter asked him why, and Doc had explained that Trombley never went through BRC and isn't yet a Recon Marine, same reason why Doc would never go after Reporter, either. It's not even remotely a level playing field, so it would be bullying and not measuring their strength. That's been bugging Ray ever since, because _he_ has definitely gone through BRC and he's been a fucking Recon Marine for years and has already been on a tour to Afghanistan before this deployment, so he still doesn't get why Doc never even attempted to nick _his_ ribcage, not even in return when Ray went for his ribs. It's frustrating not to know why, but Ray's still refusing to ask Doc - that would be like admitting defeat, and he's not that desperate yet. For a moment there he wondered if it's because Doc doesn't consider him a worthy opponent just like Trombley or Reporter, but that thought didn't last long because Ray _knows_ that he got really close to nicking Doc on all of his attempts, so he _knows_ he's almost up to Doc's level. So that can't be it. There must be another reason, but Ray doesn't see it. It's so fricking annoying. But he will find out, sooner or later. Ray's tenacious like that, and the invasion if far from over.

Ray takes another deep breath of cold morning air tinged with a hint of _Tim_ and then presses back into Tim just because he likes doing that, and he actually enjoys the sensation of Tim's boner against his ass. If he can't get Tim to nick his ribcage with his Ka-Bar, he can at least get him to poke Ray with his dick. As if on cue Tim huffs gently in an instinctive response to Ray's shift in position and buries his nose further against Ray's neck while simultaneously tightening his hold around Ray's waist, all without actually waking. It makes Ray smile. Yeah, he's definitely not the only one around here who got a taste for the nice comfy warmth of sharing a ranger grave, and that's oddly comforting to know. Reassuring. Because Ray _really_ likes it, and not in the way he does when he's huddling with Walt or any of the other guys. No, this is different. Combat cuddling with Doc _feels_ different. It's a bit like getting a teeny tiny peek of what it might be like to have Doc - _Tim_ \- touch him for real, for pleasure, not in their deployment-related context, but more a comfy-bed-somewhere-private context. Because Ray would _really_ like to do that with Tim. Pity he has no idea whether Tim would be into it, too. You know, not just guys in general, but also _Ray_ in particular. It's not like he can just _ask_.

Because ever since he indulged in his daydreaming session when Tim took care of the burns on his face two days ago, Ray's been unable to get rid of those... Thoughts? Fantasies? Ideas? Plans? Whatever the appropriate name may be, he can't unthink them - now that he's gotten a taste _of_ it he's also gotten a taste _for_ it. He's been watching Tim even before the shit with those shepherd boys happened yesterday morning, and back then it was purely for Ray's pleasure and not because he was worried about Tim like he is now. Because he _is_ worried, and he can admit that, at least to himself. Something is seriously off with Doc, and Ray doesn't like it. He wants his snarky bastard back. Everything is better than that tightly wound, hurt anger that Ray can feel coming off him since he came back from the field hospital.

There's a subtle change in Tim's breathing, and Ray can tell immediately that he's awake. Even if he doesn't move at all, it feels like there's suddenly a tension in his body that wasn't there before. Right, they've never actually woken up together without anybody else around, without immediate tasks to fulfil and without jumping into action right away. Sure feels different - intimate in a way the other times waking from their combat cuddling weren't. Not to mention that there's Tim's morning glory nestling against Ray's ass and there's _no way_ Tim doesn't notice. That reminds him, they've also never woken up in the morning, it was always the middle of the night - hence no morning wood issues before. Huh.

For a moment Tim stays still in the position he woke up in, as if he's assessing the situation and his immediate surroundings. Then he shifts, and Ray feels the exact moment when Tim removes his nose from where it rested against the back of Ray's neck and brings some distance between their groins, and right away Ray wishes the touch was back. Both of them.

"Person?" Tim asks in a deliciously sleep-rough voice that is so low it's barely audible.

_It's 'Ray', for fuck's sake! You slept with your nose pressed against my neck and I felt your morning wood against my ass, I'm pretty sure we're ready to be on a first name basis!_ Ray has thought it before he's even aware of it, but he manages not to say it out loud. Now's not the time. 

"Morning, Doc." Ray says quietly to make sure his voice doesn't carry beyond their ranger grave cocoon. He's not going to allow Tim to make this awkward for the simple reason that Ray wants to get to sleep with his hot-Doc bottle again in the very near future. "Slept well?"

Tim doesn't answer for a moment, but then he replies in an equally low voice. "Surprisingly well, actually."

"Yeah, me too." Ray chuckles. "Just so you know, in this Marine's opinion you're a really comfortable pillow."

Ray's satisfied when he hears Tim gently snort behind him at his comment. Now, that's better. 

"Likewise, Person." Tim replies with relaxed amusement tingeing his voice in a way Ray has never heard directed at him before. The closest he came was when they were watching the copulating ducks back in Ar Rifa. It was the first time he'd heard Tim chuckle - a genuinely amused chuckle, not the dry ironic one he tends to make more often. But it wasn't quite directed at Ray, contrary to now. Ray really likes that gentle amusement in Tim's voice. Makes him feel warm and maybe a little fuzzy. He definitely wants to hear it again.

Before they have the chance to say anything else, Brad's voice cuts into the quiet, peaceful atmosphere and efficiently makes it evaporate. "Ray! Tim! Get the fuck up! The sun's up and you're burning daylight!" 

With those words Brad lies down next to the Humvee and then crawls underneath it, and immediately afterwards the penetrating banging of hammering interrupts the silence of the early morning. Ray just sighs. Seems it's time to get up. Pity. He was really enjoying himself here. And all of that came to an end just because Brad's in a pissy mood.

Tim folds back their sleeping bag and Ray climbs out of the ranger grave first. He stretches and pops his spine while he's watching Tim get up and air out their sleeping bags over the opened doors of the Humvee. By then the frown has returned to Doc's face, which is a pity in Ray's opinion. He liked it better when Tim was chuckling behind him in their grave. 

For the next few hours Brad keeps hiding underneath the Humveee while trying to play it off as maintenance work by hacking away at the tar from their dip in that damn sobka field three days ago. The Humvee is still suffering from that day, and Ray lets Brad do his sulking underneath the vehicle while he himself gets down to repairing issues that involve less sulking. About half an hour after getting up Doc's called away to help do the inventory of the remainder of the battalion's medical gear and Walt is - again - taking apart their fickle Mark-19 since it's still not functioning properly. Reporter is wandering around the encampment talking to people here and there - Ray even saw him getting called aside by Godfather himself for a while - and his little black notebook keeps making an appearance regularly. 

Ray's just glad that they're going to stay here for a while because they really need a break of the road, not just because there's important maintenance to be done on Ray's baby, but also because they all need a moment of reprieve _outside_ those damn Humvees. And yes, he can call her his baby and curse her in the same sentence. They're close enough for that by now. Almost married. They certainly already went through good and bad times, although there were more bad that good so far. So, Brad needs time to sulk, Doc needs time to be pissed off, Walt needs time to charm the Mark-19 and Ray needs time to... well, maybe get in a good combat jack where he'll be picturing a certain hot ass corpsman without his bulky MOPP suit on. That sounds like a plan for tonight when it's dark. Yeah, he'll do that. It'll be a _good_ first combat jack in country.

When Doc returns he's bringing an armful of medical supplies and a clipboard with him. Ray watches from where he's leaning over the open hood how Doc retrieves his medical bag and puts it on the ground, then he begins sorting through it, putting things in and getting things out, always noting something on the form on his clipboard. He seems even more pissed off than yesterday, and Ray can only assume that the inventory didn't yield the best results. 

"Incoming." Walt suddenly says in a low voice from the turret. "Encino Man, Casey Kasem. Ray, closing on your six."

"Shit." Ray grumbles under his breath and gets up from where he was leaning over the Humvee's engine.

"Devil Dogs." Encino Man greets them when he comes to stand at the entrance to their cammie net pillow fort.

"Sir." Brad gives him a bland look, he's clearly not in the mood to accommodate the retard in any way. Means Brad's still very much in his sulky phase and retard couldn't have picked a worse moment. 

Encino Man's gaze jumps from one man to the other, from Brad to Walt to Ray and then Doc. "How's the sitrep here?"

"Good, sir." Brad says neutrally where he's standing next to the Humvee. They've all got up, even if they're not standing at attention - sadly that idiot is still their company commander. But Ray notices that Doc doesn't get up, fuck, he doesn't even _look_ up from where he's filling out that form on his clipboard.

Now _that's_ how you make a non-verbal statement and express how much you _do not_ recognise a high ranking officer's authority. Subtle but badass. Not bad. Ray barely manages not to whistle in approval _and_ appreciation of the gesture. 

"We've been through a lot these past few days. I know there's a lot of strong feelings." Encino Man begins and all Ray can think is _'Yeah, no shit there are strong feelings, you moron'_. Sometimes he wonders how that guy even operates with a brain that simple and retarded. "I want you to think of me as the kind of commander who's not only tough and aggressive, but who also cares. I want to hear exactly what your concerns are. What I mean is that I want you to talk freely. Forget my bars for a moment. Corporal Hasser? Is there anything on your mind?"

"Sir, is it true that we lost our battalion colours in the supply truck that Godfather ordered abandoned?" Walt asks with a serious look in his eyes. That's a question a lot of the men have been asking, but nobody managed to get a proper answer so far. 

"Hard as it is for me to say, the First Reconnaissance Battalion colours proudly carried into battle since Vietnam are reported missing. I can tell you the loss of these colours is something that weighs heavily on Godfather's shoulders." Somehow Encino Man even manages to looks genuinely sad about the news he's delivering. Ray is glad that he didn't just roll his eyes because for some inexplicable reason the retard turns to look at _him_. "Person, how are you doing?"

Ohhh, you really _don't_ want me to tell you that, Ray thinks drily. If I told you, I'd get NJP'd.

"Well, I could really do with one of those MREs we lost on the supply truck. They're really tasty if you're hungry enough, and we all are at this point. On top of that my vehicle looks like Swiss cheese with its forty-two beautiful bullet holes - some of which are from goddamn friendly fire -, our Mark-19 is jamming all the time because we don't have the right lubricants" - here Ray makes it a point to glance at Casey Kasem almost casually - "and two days ago my Humvee got dipped in tar that we're still trying to scrape off. But at least we _still have_ our victor considering that an officer wanted us to abandon and burn it instead of retrieving it from the tar field. So, not _everything_ is peachy, but we're working on it." Ray pauses, just a moment too long to be polite before he adds as if it's an afterthought, "Sir."

"I see, Person." Encino Man replies with a rather dumb smile as if he hasn't understood a word Ray said - which wouldn't surprise him - and then the retard turns to look at Doc, who's still working on his supplies without paying the officer and his minion any attention, and Ray can only think _'oh oh'_. Considering the state - and the mood - Doc's been in since the shepherd boys yesterday morning, it seems an extremely unwise idea for Encino Man to confront him now. Bad time. _Veeeery_ bad time. It'll blow up in his face for sure.

Of course the retard goes straight for the thing that will get him killed. "Doc, how about you?"

"I'm all squared away, sir." Doc replies in a very low voice, and even now he doesn't look at Encino Man, which is bordering hard on insubordination in how dismissive it is considering that he was addressed directly by the company commander. Ray _loves_ it, even if he's a bit disappointed that Doc is so reticent. He _knows_ Doc has things to say. Plenty of them, actually. The way his lips are pressed into a harsh line are a good sign that he's barely refraining from saying them.

"Doc, look, we're all aware how much the men look up to you." Encino Man doesn't seem to have any common sense and keeps digging. He clearly doesn't get the hint. "I'd like to know what you're thinking."

"I don't think so, sir." Doc replies, still not looking at the officer and his minion. It's as clear and blatant a hint as Doc can possibly give concerning what his answer might be if he _did_ give one after all. It's such a big out that Ray wonders how Encino Man can miss the huge neon lights all around Doc that spell 'DANGER' in flashing capital letters.

But retard _still_ keeps digging - his own grave, not that he's aware of that. "Doc, this is your chance to get a little something off your chest." 

Only now does Doc look up, for the first time since Encino Man and Casey Kasem walked up to them. That alone should be a clear warning to them, not to mention that Doc's low, annoyed sigh and the frown on his face are indications that things might not go the way they want them to. He keeps looking at Encino Man for a few seconds, then he asks, "Are you asking me to speak frankly, sir?"

The way he's phrasing that question makes alarm bells start ringing in Ray's head. Like, shrill and so loud they blow your ear drums. 

Clearly Encino Man doesn't have any alarm bells, because he just looks at Casey Kasem - who seems to try to warn him with his gaze, but _of course_ that doesn't register - and then the idiot smiles stupidly as if he just got what he wanted. "Yes. Well."

Ray _just so_ manages not to roll his eyes. No, you sure _don't_ want Doc to speak frankly. Especially _not_ concerning his opinion of you. Dumb motherfucking retard - you not only just gave him express permission to shoot you down, you even explicitly _asked_ him to do it, and in front of witnesses, no less. Seriously, that's a level of retardation that is hard to reach. It's almost an art form. Ray thinks it deserves a degree, like a 'Master of Arts in Advanced Retardation'.

Doc looks at Encino Man for a moment, and to Ray it feels like he's locked in on the target and ready to pull the trigger - and it will be a kill shot. Doc's voice is deceptively calm when he finally says, "Well, sir, it's just that you're incompetent, sir."

Oooouch. Dead on target.

Wow. That's... Even Ray wouldn't have done that. Respect. Doc is seriously badass.

Encino Man seems genuinely rattled and the idiotic smile falls off his face, as if he never expected to hear something critical of his person. Ray wants to snort, because how dumb can that guy be? It's not like Doc has ever shown him any respect, so really, he should have seen it coming. Especially considering how many outs Doc just gave him, clearly trying _not_ to answer because he knew that if he did, it would be nothing but the truth. 

Everybody is silent for a few seconds, but it's _not_ the comfortable kind of silence. It's awkward as hell, they're all aware of what just happened. Encino Man tries to save his face and replies in a forcibly firm voice, "I'm doing the best I can."

Doc looks straight at him, unflinching and direct, and his voice is low but hard as nails when he delivers his killing blow. "Sir, it's not good enough."

Double ouch. Target hit and destroyed. _So_ destroyed. Because yeah, the men all _do_ look up to Doc, and this was a very blunt statement of what he thinks of Encino Man. No way to misunderstand it. None at all. And this epic kill will most certainly do the rounds - Marines are the worst chatterboxes in existence, after all. Even retard must know that.

Encino Man looks indeed completely rattled now, not just a bit. At least he knows that the best he can do to not make a complete fool out of himself is to leave. His eyes flicker around Brad, Walt and Ray - and Ray _really_ has to rein in the urge to stick his tongue out at him - then he steps back and walks away without another word. Casey Kasem stays a moment longer to nail Doc with a death glare that clearly bounces off him with no effect at all. 

Just like all of them Doc clearly knows that he can't be NJP'd for what he just said to Encino Man for the simple reason that he answered to a direct request from the Captain to speak frankly, including the fact that they were told to forget his bars for a moment - and they all heard it. Doc has four witnesses to that fact - if you want to count Casey Kasem - and Encino Man knows it. There's nothing he can do, at least not through the official channels.

"Awesome, Doc." Walt says with a grin as soon as Encino Man and his minion are out of earshot.

Even Brad is smirking despite his pissy mood. "Spoken frankly indeed."

"Yeah, respect, Doc." Ray agrees, still watching him. He sees Doc's gaze following the retreating forms of Encino Man and Casey Kasem, and it's dark and so profoundly angry that in any other circumstances Ray would be concerned about their safety. Damn, Doc's _really_ pissed off. This is no joke. And Ray's sure they haven't seen the worst of it yet. He'll make sure to keep an eye on Doc and be there should the shit hit the fan. 

He's still undecided whether his best service to Tim will be to back him up or to hold him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love how insubordinate and disrespectful Doc is in that scene when he tells Encino Man that he's incompetent. His body language and his actions speak even louder than his words - and I'm pretty sure none of the Recon Marines could have gotten away with it. So badass and so Doc :D
> 
> Also, the last two days were even worse than the week before (among other shit my laptop broke, but at least I still have my files), so if you feel like leaving me a wee pick-me-up comment, you'll be my hero *offers tea and homemade apple crumble*


	33. Tim POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we finally go with some more Tim-Eric friendship. I hope you like it ^_^
> 
> And just like in the last chapter the scents Tim associates with Ray are also _military_bluebells_ 's inspiration, and I love it so much, it's so fitting! Thanks for allowing me to use them, my dear :D

  
"Hey Tim." 

Tim recognises Eric's voice even before he looks up from his perch on one of the crates that he set up as his makeshift aid station. "Eric. What can I help you with?"

Eric nods at the now unoccupied crate opposite of Tim where Leon sat before, Tim's most recent patient. "You mind taking a look at me, too?"

"Course." Tim gives him a little smile and jerks his chin at the crate. "Sit down."

"Thanks." Eric lowers himself on the low crate, and Tim looks pointedly at his boots.

"Feet?" Tim asks although he's pretty sure what the answer is going to be. Eric usually comes to Tim to get his feet treated - well, and anything else, although he could just as well go to Doc Weatherby, the corpsman of his own platoon. Not that Tim minds, he's always glad to help Eric out.

Eric nods and begins undoing his boots. "Just like everybody else."

"Yeah, I've seen quite a few feet since we arrived here yesterday." Tim replies drily, puts on new gloves and then assembles what he needs for a new round of treating fungus-ridden feet that haven't aired out at all for days. At least they haven't run out of anti-fungal cream yet, so he'll use it as long as he still can. 

It's afternoon now, and so far Tim has tried to keep his mind clear and focussed on his tasks throughout the day, but the toxic mixture of feelings in his insides doesn't disappear just because he ignores it. It doesn't exactly help that the further Tim got this morning with the inventory he was helping with on the remaining medical gear in their supply trucks, the more pissed off he got. It's worse than they expected. They lost so fucking much, and some of the stuff is essential for him to make sure the men remain as healthy as possible given the circumstances. One of those things is their supply of creams for treating the sore feet and the fungus that spreads so nicely due to the men never taking their boots off. A little more than half of the supply they brought with them is now missing, and Tim really _really_ needs it for his men - and will definitely need it in the future, too. This invasion is going to continue for a while, after all. 

Once they'd finished with taking stock of their medical supplies, Tim set up his makeshift aid station and spent his time taking care of the medical issues of the men that they couldn't really deal with before when they were on the road. There are a lot of complaints about quite intense chafing from the MOPP suits as well as the flak vests, and there are also many men who have developed rashes and extensive zits all over the body, also caused by the MOPP suits in combination with the heat and the men constantly sweating without drying properly afterwards, never mind being able to wash. 

By far the most common issue, though, is that fungus infection of their feet. Not all Marines have that problem, but most do for the simple reason that damn command ordered them to not take off their boots even to sleep. Tim gets why that order was issued, he genuinely does, but he's pretty sure that nobody thought that through to the end. It doesn't help keeping the men combat ready and prepared at all times by always having them keep their boots on when that puts them out of commission in the long run due to their feet rotting away. 

When Eric slips out of his socks, Tim can tell even before looking by the smell alone that Eric's feet aren't nearly as bad as what Tim has seen on average on the other men. The only explanation for that is that Eric doesn't abide by the don't-ever-take-off-your-boots rule, same as Tim himself doesn't. He can't afford to have his feet rot away, he has to be able to move around to take care of his men, and nobody will come treat _his_ feet. So in Tim's mind prevention is better than cure, especially in his own case - if he's out of commission, the men have a serious problem, and he won't allow that to happen. Not because of some half-baked rule. 

Tim takes hold of Eric's right foot and inspects it closely, and now he's sure that Eric has been airing out his feet from time to time. "Your feet are not nearly as bad as most of the others'. I guess you followed common sense over the rules?"

Eric chuckles. "Yeah. And on top of that, there's this corpsman who taught me really well, and I knew he'd disapprove of me not taking off my boots for ten days straight."

Tim huffs. "Damn right he does." 

"I made my team take short boots-off time on a rotating basis whenever possible, so I think we're all a bit better off than the rest of the men." Eric says while he's watching as Tim sets down his right foot and then checks on his left one. 

"Weatherby will be most grateful." Tim looks up at Eric and cocks an eyebrow. "I can tell you that the smell is the worst of it, and if there are five guys who took precautions, he'll get less of it than I do. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

For a moment there's silence when Tim begins to spread the anti-fungal cream. He can feel Eric watching him attentively, though, and Tim just waits him out. He'll talk when he's ready.

It takes another minute before Eric asks casually, "So, how's your personnel trouble going?"

Ah, so Eric's not just here because of his feet. When Tim doesn't answer right away, Eric makes a vague gesture in the direction of Person, who's working on their Humvee about thirty metres away from Tim's aid station. "I heard the most interesting rumour that Brad is making you and Ray share body heat as a bonding exercise."

"What the fuck?" Tim just rolls his eyes. "Where do rumours like that even come from?"

"Marines are the worst chatterboxes in existence, Tim, you know that very well." Eric smirks, clearly amused now. "So it's not true?"

"No, it's not." Tim replies evenly and returns to his task of applying cream to Eric's feet. "Brad never told us to do that."

Eric peeks up and Tim knows he just picked up on what Tim _didn't_ say. "Meaning the only part about that rumour that is not true concerns the part where Brad told you to do it?"

"Yeah." Tim just says, because he has never lied to Eric before and he won't start now.

One of Eric's eyebrows lifts up. "So you _are_ sharing a ranger grave with Ray?" 

Tim forces himself to sound casual. "On occasion."

For a moment Eric is quiet, and when he speaks again Tim can hear the incredulousness in his voice. "How did _that_ happen? I would have bet absolutely anything that you'd rather kill him than cuddle with him."

"We're not cuddling, we're sharing body heat." Tim hears himself say and regrets it the moment the words have left his mouth. It sounds too much like denial, and Eric knows him too well _not_ to pick up on it - or to let it slide.

True to expectation Eric snorts in gently mocking disbelief. "Sure, Tim. There are many other options for getting some body heat. I know for a fact that usually Walt and Ray tend to share a grave - and Walt is even on the same team. So you want to explain to me how Ray ended up in _your_ grave instead? Last time we talked about him you wanted to strangle him."

"I still do." Tim huffs, partly in annoyance, partly in defeat. "He's been crashing from the horrendous amounts of Ripped Fuel he's constantly taking - which of course I know _nothing_ about as the corpsman. Anyway, a few nights ago, when we were on the way to Nasiriyah and dug in by the canal, it was pretty bad. He was shivering to the point that his teeth chattered, and I really wanted to keep him from taking another dose to take the edge off. So I made him lie down in my grave and I managed to get the shivering to stop and he even fell asleep. Until that moron Casey Kasem woke us all for his fucking false alarm, that is." 

Eric is watching him attentively in that pensive way he sometimes has, and Tim wonders what he's seeing. Whatever it is, Eric doesn't comment on it, instead he nods and says. "And that's how this rumour was born. I guess somebody saw you two."

"I'm sure somebody saw us, we were in an open ranger grave. It's not like it's a secret. Plenty of guys share graves, after all." Tim just shrugs because he's genuinely not worried about that. Then he frowns. "And quite frankly, I don't care what anybody thinks. What I'm _really_ worried about is Person overdosing, and if his body doesn't get at least the minimum of sleep that it needs, he will take more and more of that shit and he'll burn out _real_ fast. Or give himself a heart attack by overdosing in his quest to stay awake. If making him sleep in my grave means that he _actually sleeps_ , I'm fine with whatever rumours are out there."

Tim is genuinely not bothered by the rumours, because if he has learned one thing in the military, it's that there will _always_ be rumours about every damn topic under the sun, be it mission plans or officers' backgrounds or the love life of a fellow serviceman or even just the fucking mess food. He's had several rumours attached to his name before and there are some very persistent ones, mostly about things he supposedly did on missions - some of which are actually true. He never paid them much attention, but he has learned that neither confirming nor denying them actually works in his favour because it means that the men are never quite sure what to make of him, and the resulting reputation makes it easier for him to keep the men on their toes and hence they follow his orders without much backtalk - and that's exactly what he needs to get his job done. Otherwise he doesn't much care what is being said about him, and the same holds true now - it's more important to Tim that he makes sure that Person comes out of this deployment alive than that nobody makes wild assumption about the relationship between him and Person. He knows there are rumours about that already anyway, although they're more following along the lines of who will kill whom first, as if they're in an epic, drawn-out MTV Celebrity Deathmatch fought inside their Humvee to the entertainment of the entire platoon. He's pretty sure there are bets. 

But rumours are one thing, and the truth is another thing entirely. And the truth is that waking up to Person's warmth pressing against him this morning was... enlightening. First off, Person really does make for a very good pillow. And more than just that, Tim sleeps really well with him around. It's not something he exactly likes admitting, but he's never lied to himself and he won't start now. Fact is, Person's presence is helping him sleep - and sleep _well_ and _deeply_ in a way he usually doesn't, especially not on deployments. And it's not just because of the physical warmth, that Tim is certain about because he has in fact slept huddled up to many men on tours and during training exercises before Person came along, and that never worked on him the way it does now. So it's not just the warmth of an additional body. It's _Person_ , and that's... rather unsettling.

Tim also gets the impression that the same thing is true for Person as well, that he sleeps better with Tim pressed against him. He even said so this morning after Tim admitted to having slept well. And after those three times that they've shared a ranger grave Person always seemed rested in a way he doesn't otherwise, as if he genuinely got to sleep, not just doze. And then there's the fact that he clearly _wanted_ to sleep in Tim's grave, after all Person didn't hesitate even for a second to come to him - neither after that sobka field incident when Tim still made it an order, nor last night when it was just an offer. He could have refused without any repercussions, but to Tim he looked relieved and eager, not at all like he was even contemplating refusing the offer.

Maybe he noticed the same effects Tim has and decided to make use of them. Now that would make sense - Person is not stupid, after all. He _is_ an annoying little shit when he's on Ripped Fuel in particular, but he's _not_ stupid. Far from it. Based on his observations Tim would say that Person is extremely self-aware, and he knows perfectly what he's doing to himself with the excessive stimulant consumption, he just doesn't deem it important in comparison to his responsibilities as the driver of the point vehicle. So Tim would expect him to notice things like better and more restful sleep, especially because it has such an immediate effect on his performance during their waking hours. And Person will definitely use every resource at his disposal to make sure that his performance level is at the highest it can possibly be given their circumstances. Tim doubts that he would miss out on a way to achieve that just because that way happens to include _Tim_. 

And Tim is honest enough to admit that he's not exactly a reluctant participant in this. Sleeping huddled close to Person is really comfortable, after all, so why would he give up on that if Person wants it too and they both benefit from it? Well, the only uncomfortable bit happened when he woke this morning. Tim knew right away that Ray... that Person was already awake when he himself woke up, and he's absolutely sure that Person noticed Tim's early-morning hard-on. Yeah, there's no way he didn't with how it was pressing to his ass, not even with all the layers of clothes they had on. And yet Ray hadn't moved away in all the time he'd already been awake before Tim was, he hadn't gotten up, hadn't even brought any distance between his ass and Tim's dick. Quite to the contrary, if Tim remembers the moment of his waking correctly. It felt like Ray was pressing close to him - _actively_ pressing close. 

Tim is at a complete loss of what to make of that. It's certainly not what most heterosexual men would do - even those very secure in who they are - and much less would most of them be this comfortable with it. _That_ Tim knows for a fact, because he's slept nut to butt with enough guys on cold missions to have seen every possible reactions to encountering another guy's morning wood in either sleeping position. And Ray clearly wasn't put out by it, he didn't comment on it, he didn't even tease Tim about it, which is what Tim would have expected him to do. But no, he didn't pay the whole thing any attention, no lewd come-ons, no mocking, no word about it whatsoever. If anything, it left Tim quite confused because it feels like a very uncharacteristic reaction for Person. Either Ray is _the_ most secure and comfortable heterosexual man Tim has ever encountered - which wouldn't actually surprise him, because Ray sure doesn't get offended easily - or he's not quite _that_ heterosexual, which would also explain his lack of repulsion and discomfort. Tim has no idea what option is the correct one, though.

Yeah, Ray sure is very different when he's not high on Ripped Fuel, and just like he wasn't high that night by the canal when they pretended to watch rocks, he also wasn't this morning when they woke up. And... Tim likes that guy, what little he has seen of him so far. And he'd like to see more of him, but he doesn't think the odds are good on that considering that they're still at the beginning of the invasion and Ray has a lot more pressure coming his way as the driver of the lead vehicle. He'll probably be high until he runs out of Ripped Fuel, and Tim doesn't even want to think about what will happen when they get to that point and Ray goes cold turkey. That will _not_ be pretty. The question is only _when_ it'll happen, and how bad the timing is going to be. Yeah, Tim will keep a careful eye out for any signs that they're approaching that point, because he has to make sure that he's there to pick up the pieces when it happens. 

Okay, so _maybe_ when he's not on Ripped Fuel, Ray _is_ kind of attractive after all. But that's the premise, because when he's high he's so fucking irritating that he drives Tim up the walls in a way few people manage, and 'attractive' is the last word on his mind then. But when he's just himself like this morning or that night by the canal, Tim actually enjoys his gentle teasing, and Ray's sharp wit is amusing instead of annoying because his remarks cut to the point instead of being accompanied by tons of non-stop bullshit. And even if Tim is reluctant to admit to it, he may also have been noticing his dimples a lot more in the past few days since he first saw Ray give him a genuine smile. And as a consequence he couldn't help becoming aware of the fact that Ray has astonishingly large eyes, and they're of a quite beautiful, rich brown colour. Yeah, those are things Tim definitely didn't pay any attention to before... before Ray gave him a genuine smile instead of a grin or a smirk. 

And damn, it felt _good_ to have him cuddled so close to Tim this morning. Tim will admit that he likes how Ray feels in his arms, how he's all lean strength and yet still so very much willing to melt against Tim like a satisfied, comfortable cat. He also fits against Tim _so freaking perfectly_ because the difference in their height means that Tim has the optimal length to wrap around him from head to toe, and that makes combat cuddling with him extremely comfortable. That in turn made Tim involuntarily notice that Ray actually smells good, too. And yes, Tim is well aware that that's a rather strange observation to make given that showers have been non-existent for over ten days now, but that's just what his nose is telling him. Because when he woke this morning his nose was not buried in the hood of Person's MOPP suit, no, it was _touching Ray's neck_ and he inhaled his scent with every breath he took - and must have done so the entire time they were asleep. Ray smells like fresh grass and apples combined with motor oil and something sharp and crisp that Tim can only think to describe as electricity, and it's a fascinating, contradictory mixture that for some reason blends together perfectly. Even now, hours later, Tim can still easily recall his scent, and that is almost as unsettling as realising that it's Ray - _Person_ , dammit - who is the reason for Tim sleeping so well. 

"Is it working? Does Ray actually sleep when he's in your grave?" Eric asks, still watching Tim from his perch on the low crate, and Tim can't help wondering how much Eric could read on his face. Hopefully not too many of his rather personal thoughts because Tim's not even remotely willing to talk about any of that. Not now, not here.

"So far, yes." Tim replies and begins working on Eric's left foot. "Well, and it eases my personnel troubles when he's better rested. Means he's taking less Ripped Fuel and therefore talking at least _a little_ less bullshit." 

Eric sighs heavily. "I wish my personnel troubles could be lessened that easily."

Tim just snorts. "Yeah, I doubt it'll work for you. Not to mention that I'm pretty sure you don't ever want to share a grave with Captain America. He seems to be getting worse with every day that passes."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Eric huffs angrily. "The idiot keeps firing AKs from his vehicle - completely out of the blue, without calling his targets. Every time it happens we think it's enemy fire. It's fucking dangerous. That has to stop."

Tim looks at him and pointedly cocks an eyebrow. "Make him stop."

Eric just gives him a look. "Yeah, sure."

"Come on, Eric. I'm sure you can figure out how to do that without him losing his face and becoming even more of a prick." Tim continues in a low voice because they really don't want anybody overhearing this part of the conversation. "He's prone to hysterics and paranoia, and he scares easily. Use that."

"Hm." Eric narrows his eyes in that way he has when he's thinking about something, which means that he probably just came up with an idea. Good. Because Eric's right, Captain America's crazy antics need to be contained as much as possible or they will result in very dangerous situations that could get men killed for no good reason. 

"Got any ideas yet?" Tim enquires after a moment of silence when Eric is still looking like he's strategizing. 

"Working on it. But yeah, I think I have at least the beginning of a plan." Eric replies with a slow nod. They're quiet again for a while, then Eric clears his throat. "Tim... The kids that Trombley shot. Do you think they'll make it?"

Tim is caught a bit off guard by the complete non-sequitur, so he doesn't look up and keeps applying the anti-fungal cream to Eric's left foot. It's a sore topic for him, and he can't suppress the frown that immediately comes to his face. "Hard to say. The older kid who was shot to the leg, yes, I'm pretty sure he'll make it given that he's receiving care from RCT-1's field hospital. But the younger boy... He had _four_ bullets tear apart his organs, Eric. All I know is that they managed to stabilise him and put him on a medevac bird, so at least he has a fighting chance. I sure hope he's going to be okay, but stuff like that doesn't pass without repercussions."

Eric doesn't say anything for a moment. "And you, Tim?"

Tim wouldn't be surprised if Eric noticed that something is off with him - they know each other well enough for him to be able to tell - and now he's checking up on Tim. It's an unfamiliar feeling that somebody asks how _Tim_ is doing, usually it's the other way round. Tim appreciates that there's somebody along on this tour who not only cares and bothers to ask, but who Tim is also close enough to that he's willing to reply honestly. That's also an unfamiliar feeling.

"I don't know." Tim admits after taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He looks up and finds Eric's genuinely concerned gaze on him, but there's also understanding in his eyes. Tim knows he has a good idea of what's bothering Tim because it's bothering him, too. "A lot of shit has been going wrong all throughout this invasion, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that. Those kids are one more mistake in an already way too long line of mistakes that were avoidable and that never should have happened because we're _better than that_. But the worst about it is how Godfather handled it - and all those things before. It's becoming an accumulation of wrong decisions that have grave consequences - and I don't think he cares at all." Tim presses his lips into a tight line, and he can feel the frown on his face deepen even further. "I'm just so fucking..."

"Furious at being at the mercy of our incompetent leadership that shouldn't be out in the field with us in the first place?" Eric offers when Tim trails off without finishing his sentence. "At being absolutely powerless to prevent things that you know are grossly wrong, and that usually the innocents pay for, often with their lives? At seeing our men be treated like mindless cannon fodder instead of human beings? At being condemned to watch it happen time and again, knowing it's completely unnecessary?"

Tim nods, his lips still pressed together. "Yeah, you summed that up perfectly."

Eric takes a deep breath and sighs in a mixture of irritation and resignation. "Believe me, I get that feeling very well."

Tim snorts while he finishes with the anti-fungal cream. "Considering that you have Captain America as you platoon commander, I'm sure you do."

"Yeah, I experience it a lot." Eric huffs in discontent. "That reminds me, I heard another rumour going around that I wanted to ask you about. Did you really just tell Encino Man that he's incompetent?"

"Oh, that." Tim nods and gestures at Eric to leave his feet on the crate so that his skin can absorb the cream. "Yeah, I did." 

Eric is quiet for a moment, but it's a surprised silence. "To his face?"

Tim shrugs, but there's a hint of satisfaction lingering in his stomach. It felt good to at least have said a part of the truth out loud to their idiotic company commander. "He asked for it. Figuratively and - more importantly - literally speaking."

"He _gave you permission_ to call him incompetent?" The scepticism in Eric's voice is unmistakable. 

"Well, he told us to forget his bars and he asked my opinion and wouldn't accept any of my really blatant attempts to spare him the honesty. He kept digging, told me to speak frankly." Tim gives Eric a look and cocks an eyebrow. "So I did what he asked. Seems it wasn't what he'd wanted to hear."

Yeah, Encino Man had really chosen the worst possible moment to ask for Tim's honest opinion _today_ of all days. At any other time Tim would have been able to resist the temptation, but at that point his defences against the idiocy of their command were already worn extremely thin by what had happened to the shepherd boys, by the abandoned supply truck, by the reckless and rash assault on the airfield, by just spending hours doing inventory of medical gear and finding the situation more and more dire the closer they came to conclusion. And of course not to forget, his personal favourite: Encino Man ordering that danger-close air strike in his desire to get himself a fucking medal and that was prevented by nothing but chance and ironically Encino Man's own incompetence. And it now might end up costing them their only good officer because he did the right thing and tried to protect his men from getting executed by their own company commander.

Tim thinks the man even beyond incompetent and he just can't comprehend how somebody like that made it to company commander, and he understands even less how anybody could put him in charge of men in active combat. The guy's a pencil pusher, he's not a warrior. He may be good at his job when he's actually doing _his_ job, because the role he's filling in here is _not_ it. There's a reason why Recon units operate in small independent teams with with their leadership being one of them, the Team Leader who's an experienced combatant like Brad or Eric, somebody who's right there in the thick of it with the men - not some removed officer who's never been deployed before, who's never been shot at, who's never lived the life. 

When Encino Man came by and asked for their frank opinions and just didn't accept the outs Tim offered, he decided to give him a piece of his mind. Tim made sure to do it in a way that it couldn't redound on him, at least not through official channels. He won't be surprised if it still comes back to bite him in the ass one way or another, especially because Tim not only openly questioned Encino Man's competence and thereby his authority, he also made Encino Man lose his face. And he did it in front of several witnesses - among them Casey Kasem, and that man might be moron, but he's a dangerous moron who has had it in for Tim for a while now. Well, that sentiment is mutual, and ever since that retard almost blinded and shot Tim a few nights ago, he doesn't have much goodwill left for him anyway. Tim doesn't have to like a guy to be able to work with him, he's perfectly fine with intelligence, skill, competence and integrity - but sadly those are traits neither Casey Kasem nor Encino Man exactly possess in abundance. Fact is, there's just nothing to work with.

"In the name of all the men, I thank you for speaking the truth where none of us could have." Eric remarks with a note of genuine satisfaction in his voice. 

Tim inclines his head, not quite a nod, and applies a blister plaster to a noticeable blister on Eric's instep after checking that the cream has been absorbed entirely. "Sometimes it _does_ have advantages to be Navy in this setting."

Eric smirks. "You sure used it to our full satisfaction."

"I aim to please." Tim replies drily, and Eric snorts because he knows it's so far from the truth that it's ridiculous. Tim has never much cared if he pleases people with what he says or does, and he sure doesn't do so now, either. Telling their company commander that he's incompetent is a good indication of that. 

Before they can talk about anything else, Holsey comes up to the makeshift aid station and asks if Tim has a moment to do his feet as well. Since Eric is basically done, Tim nods in the affirmative and Eric puts on his socks and boots and then vacates his spot for Holsey. He gives Tim's shoulder a quick pat that Tim understands as the wordless support it is, and then Eric walks off back to his own platoon. 

The rest of that day consists mostly of more men coming to Tim with their issues. It's busy enough that Tim doesn't have much time to think about anything, and he's grateful for it because he knows he's not in a good spot right now and might get really dark, angry thoughts if he has too much time to think. He still sees the young boy's eyes in his mind, their wordless accusation and the life in them fading, and every time he does the mixture of anger, frustration and resignation begins to churn in his stomach again to the point that he wants to punch somebody. Preferably Godfather. But Encino Man or Casey Kasem would do too. Fuck, he could really do with a good, exhausting sparring session. 

What he gets instead, when it's late in the afternoon and Tim's in his fourth consecutive hour of treating rashes and extremely smelly feet, is Pappy coming by, bringing him a canteen cup half-filled with steaming hot coffee. The absolutely delicious scent alone tells Tim that it's Rudy's work and that he made it extra strong in the way he knows Tim likes it. True to expectation Pappy tells him that Rudy sent him over with the order that Tim should take a ten-minute coffee break before he continues working. Despite how busy it was all day, not a single man shows up by the makeshift aid station until Tim has finished his coffee, and Tim is pretty sure that's Rudy's work, too. Once he sets his empty cup down, Christopher pops up by his side and asks about some help with this itchy and painful rash on his chest.

When Tim closes his aid station for the day and returns to One Alpha's Humvee, he finds a humrat MRE of hot lentil stew and rice, a brownie and a pack of Combos sitting on his seat protected under Tim's kevlar. Just like after that shitfight in Al Gharraf, when Tim was still checking on the men, one of his teammates took him into account and put something to eat aside for him, and he's grateful for it. Tim stows the equipment he used for his aid station, then he sits down with his feet in Reporter's ranger grave and eats his dinner. He keeps the brownie for last because while he never would admit it to anybody, he really likes brownies and wants to enjoy it as dessert so that the taste stays in his mouth for a while until he'll brush his teeth.

That night Person and Tim take the first watch again, while Brad and Hasser get to sleep for a few hours. Tim has noticed that Brad seems to be putting him and Person on the same watch shifts on purpose, and he wonders what reason he has for doing that. Tim heads with Person over to their Mark-19 that is positioned on the berm, then they both sit down on the low crates that serve as their seats, one on the right side, one on the left side of the Mark-19. Just like last night when they were on watch Person doesn't say much, but it's not uncomfortable. It's the same companionable silence they shared by the canal, and Tim knows it's because Person has taken only a very low dose of Ripped Fuel today. Tim is very glad about that, he really couldn't have dealt with a bullshit-sprouting Person today without lashing out for real. Instead he finds that he relaxes a little bit the longer they're on the berm together. Tim prefers not to think about what that means.

It's midnight when Lovell comes by and informs them of the of the possible approaching armour, and Tim immediately goes to wake Brad to pass on the news while Person remains on the berm by the Mark-19. Minutes later Brad, Hasser and Tim return to the berm where Person is still staring at the horizon. Tim comes to stand next to him and looks at the scene through his NVGs while Brad uses the night sight on his M-4, and when Brad announces his assessment that it's a town and that its supposed movement is in fact autokinesis, Tim has already come to the same conclusion. He wonders how Alpha could make it fifteen klicks, it's at least thirty to forty in his opinion, and when Tim remarks that out loud, Brad agrees with his estimate. The information is passed on, but it's ignored, instead there's a massive drop of ordnance in the area Alpha established. 

Tim watches with a slow shake of his head. What the fuck are they doing here? He really hopes there are no villages in the path of that drop. It makes the anger, the frustration and the resignation in his stomach churn again, and Tim grits his teeth in an effort to push it down. The bombing goes on for hours, and the longer it lasts, the more Tim feels consumed by the toxic feelings and as well as the accompanying, increasingly darker thoughts. When Brad tells them to head back to the Humvee and get some sleep, Tim almost wants to refuse, but he knows his body needs the rest and he has a responsibility to the men to keep as fit as possible.

Person has already claimed Brad's large ranger grave when Tim gets under the cammie net. He's standing with both feet in the hole, unfurling his sleeping bag, and Tim feels Person's gaze following him when he heads over to the Humvee to get his own sleeping bag. He noticed that Person is keeping an eye on him, he has been doing that ever since Tim came back from the trip to the field hospital yesterday. It goes hand in hand with him making an obvious effort not to annoy Tim, and Tim's not quite sure what to make of that. It's considerate and caring in a way Tim isn't used to from Person, and right now it unsettles him because it feels like it's changing the rules they have played by so far, and Tim doesn't know what the new rules are.

There's the distant noise of another bomb drop echoing over to their position, and Tim clenches his hands into fists where they're holding onto his sleeping bag. How many more innocent lives did they just erase because of a few incompetent, overeager officers? Tim forces himself to relax his shoulders and hands again. Fuck, he'll never get to sleep if he's getting himself worked up like this. He should really-

"Doc." Tim suddenly hears Person's voice from the ranger grave behind him, and it's quiet but firm and oddly warm. Tim turns to look at Person where he's lying in his grave, the sleeping bag folded back and a genuinely worried expression in his eyes. "Get over here."

Tim doesn't hesitate, doesn't think about it, he simply walks over to Person. He needs what he knows Person is offering with no questions asked. 

Fuck, he _wants_ it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for that cliffhanger... >_< Don't kill me please!


	34. Ray POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me _again_ so long to update, especially after that cliffhanger of the last chapter T_T But well, life's not been getting any better this week... So if you feel like leaving me a wee word, know that any cheering up will be _highly_ appreciated ^^

  
"Go get some sleep, Ray." Brad says from where he's watching the ongoing bombing through his night sight. "You too, Doc. Walt and I will take over now."

Ray glances at his watch and it tells him that it's already 0314 hours, so the night is going to be a short one. Sleepwise at least. The bombing of the grid zones that Alpha called fifteen klicks out has been going on for over three hours by now, and Ray can't help wondering how much ordnance they've already dropped, and how much more it'll be until they stop. A lot, he'd say. 

Ray fold back his NVGs and looks at Brad. "Think it's okay if we hit the hay? We're still on alert."

"Yeah, just do it." Brad confirms without looking away from the horizon where a new wave of explosions is visible. "Nothing's going to happen anymore. Not just because there wasn't any armour to begin with, but also because of that rather extensive bombing out there."

"Okay." Ray agrees and gets up from the crate he was sitting on, then he stretches the kinks out of his back and shoulders. "I sure wouldn't mind an hour or two of shuteye."

Ray glances to his left where Doc is standing with his NVGs still activated, watching the scene in the distance. Ray can't see his face behind the goggles, but from his body language alone Ray can tell that there's a frown on his face, and it got progressively deeper the longer the bombing has been going on. For a moment there - before Alpha's false alarm - Ray had the impression that Doc was relaxing bit by bit while they were standing watch together in that companionable silence that Ray never expected he could have _with Doc_. The first time he experienced it was back by the canal after they'd shared a grave for the first time, if his memory serves him right, and Ray can't help but see that there seems to be a direct correlation to the level of his Ripped Fuel consumption - the less he takes, the better he gets along with Doc. Okay, that's not _that_ surprising given that it seems to be his drug-induced non-stop bullshit-talking that annoys Doc the most. Hmm, maybe Doc doesn't actually dislike _him_ that much after all, just his Ripped Fuel induced headless-chicken-thoughts finding a way out of his head. It's worth some consideration. And some experimenting, maybe.

For a moment Ray wonders if he should ask Doc if he's coming, but given that he hasn't made any move to stop his surveillance of the bombing Ray decides to let him be. He'll come get some sleep when he wants to, there's no need for Ray to nag just because he wants his hot-Doc bottle again. He's not _that_ desperate. He's not crashing from either stimulants or adrenaline right now and he's a big boy, he can sleep alone in his own grave for a night. Or, well, for a few short hours, the night's already halfway over, anyway.

Ray turns around with one last glance at Doc's tense figure next to him, then he walks down the berm and in the direction of their Humvee. Whatever is wrong with Doc hasn't eased since yesterday, and there's _something_ to it that Ray can't quite define, but it worries him. It seems out of character for Doc, because it's not just anger in the way he usually is pissed off. Ray had the impression that he felt a little better this morning when they woke together, but that dissipated quickly enough once Brad made them get up, and it was definitely entirely gone by the time Encino Man asked for their opinions and Doc very purposefully shot him down. And just now with the bombing it went even more downhill. Not a good omen. 

Ray wonders how long Doc's downtrodden, pissed-off mood will last, because it might become a real problem once they're on the road again. Ray's well aware that there are two main reasons why he manages to not overly annoy Doc right now, and they're both mostly out of his hands: On one hand they're not jammed into the tight confines of the Humvee and can give each other space. And on the other hand Ray doesn't need as much Ripped Fuel because he's not driving and gets at least a few hours of sleep more or less regularly. But once they move out, he knows he'll be downing that stuff again like it's tasty candy because he needs it to stay awake and alert, and then he won't be able to keep from relaying at least a portion of his headless-chicken-thoughts, and that will piss off Doc even more because they can't even get out of each other's hair. 

Yay. Brad will kill them both sooner or later. And then he'll call it justifiable homicide, an act of pure self-defence. Reporter will probably back him up on that claim. And Walt will testify that he didn't see a thing because he was in the turret and when he got down to look around the vehicle, it was already too late to save either Doc or Ray.

When Ray gets to their Humvee he takes the shitter and the roll of TP and goes to take a dump. On his way back he ponders trying to now get that combat jack that he's been thinking about. He stows the shitter and the TP in the Humvee again while he's still contemplating the issue. It's not a bad time, there's nobody around with Brad, Doc and Walt still on the berm. But on the other hand he has to expect Doc to come back any moment, and while Ray has almost no shame, he really doesn't want Doc walking in on him when he's jerking off to fantasies that Doc actually stars in as the main character. Might lead to a very awkward situation. 

So instead of jerking off Ray gets his sleeping bag and then heads over to Brad's grave. He hops in and is just unfurling his sleeping bag when he spots Doc coming towards the Humvee and then ducking under the cammie net. Ray follows him with his gaze when Doc goes to the back of the victor, most likely to retrieve his own sleeping bag, and Ray can't help noticing the stiffness in his posture, how his movements are lacking their usual grace and instead speak of coiled tension and barely suppressed anger. 

_Lost_ , Ray thinks suddenly while he's lying down in Brad's grave. The way Doc's standing there by the Humvee with his body tense and his shoulders hunched, he seems _lost_ , and that's not something Ray would have ever expected to say about him. He looks so different from his usual assured self, and Ray doesn't like it. Doesn't like it at all, so Ray does the only thing he can think of, even if he's not sure that Doc will even accept it coming from _Ray_. He folds back his sleeping bag and makes sure that his voice sounds firm but warm when he says, "Doc." 

After a moment where he seems frozen in place, Doc turns towards him and his gaze finds Ray's. There's still that deep frown on his face, and now Ray recognises that _something_ he couldn't quite pinpoint before as helpless anger paired with frustration and something that feels suspiciously like resignation. Doc's not pissed off in the way he usually is at Ray or the stupidity of command or at the dumb things the guys do. No, this is different, it's bone-deep disappointment and wariness and doubt about what they're doing here. And it's not some superficial doubt, no, it's something _fundamental_.

Ray holds his gaze for a few seconds and then says the same thing that Doc said to him so many times. "Get over here."

To Ray's surprise Doc doesn't object, doesn't in fact say anything, he simply takes the few steps over to where Ray is lying in Brad's large grave. Ray feels Doc slide into it next to him more than he sees it in the dark, and then Doc surprises him again by settling against Ray's left side instead of pressing against Ray's back like he usually does. Doc's head comes to rest on Ray's shoulder and his arm settles across Ray's chest, and the way he tucks himself against Ray feels vulnerable and lost and like _he_ needs protection for once - protection from what Ray's not entirely sure - so Ray doesn't hesitate to wrap his left arm around Doc's back while his right hand comes up to reassuringly rest on the MOPP suit sleeve on his lower arm where it's stretched out across Ray's chest. 

Doc feels tense in his arms and Ray worries that he might have overstepped some unknown boundary with his touch, but Doc makes no attempt to tell Ray off or break the contact. Instead Ray feels Doc's chest expand with a deep breath, and when he lets it out again he seems to let go of the tension, and his body relaxes against Ray's bit by bit until Doc - no, _Tim_ \- is curling up to Ray in a way Ray _never_ expected him to do. Ray doesn't say anything, just keeps holding him, offering comfort and a moment of reprieve in the same way Tim did for him before.

They remain silent, and Ray feels how it slowly gets warm where they're pressed against each other. It's strangely comfortable to just lie here together, not quite asleep, but not entirely awake either with the exhaustion of the past ten days taking its toll in this moment of relaxation. Ray catalogues how Tim feels against him, in his arms. He's solid, his strength and his greater height clearly palpable, but he still feels oddly small at the moment. His bottom leg is pressed all along Ray's while his top leg has shifted to lie across Ray's, bringing them in even closer contact. The top of Tim's head is resting against Ray's jaw, his bandana touching Ray's skin. It's surprisingly soft, Ray finds himself thinking randomly, followed by the realisation that they fit together perfectly like this, which is surprising and maybe a bit strange, but not bad. Not bad _at all_. 

Ray's beginning to fall asleep when he hears Tim's voice, so low it's barely audible. "Thanks, Person." 

"Ray." Ray murmurs equally quiet into the bandana he can feel against his lips before he has even thought about saying it.

"Hmm?" Ray can feel the vibration of Tim's enquiring hum where his chest is pressed against Ray's side.

"Call me Ray." Ray repeats, still in the same low voice, because this feels intimate and like it's not meant for other ears. This is just between him and Tim. Not Doc, but _Tim_.

Tim remains silent for a long time, and Ray thinks he might have fallen asleep, then he hears Tim's voice, rough and gravelly, barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Ray."

Ray's not sure what to say, so he just tightens his hold on Tim and gives a short squeeze where his hand rests on Tim's lower arm. It seems to be the right thing to do because he can feel Tim melt against him a little more until he's a boneless warmth against Ray. Ray finds himself wondering how many people on this planet ever got to experience Tim like that. He doubts that it's many, and somehow it feels like he's just been given a precious gift. 

He'll make sure to honour it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who want to know what Tim's voice sounds like when I describe it as low and gravelly, check episode 5 and look at the scene right after the Muwaffaqiah ambush, when Doc and Nate come across Christeson and Stafford. There's this part where Doc says 'Well, I took an inch of shrapnel out of his thigh, but it missed the femoral artery' - that's a good example of what I'm talking about, especially the last part of that sentence :D
> 
> And because I'm _really_ curious, what did you think of this chapter? This was an important point in Tim's and Ray's relationship, after all...


	35. Reporter POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had the week from hell and I seem to be tenaciously pursued by Back Luck (yes, it has to be capitalised T_T ): since Monday I had _three_ laptops completely die on me. Okay, so they were all over five years old, but come on, _all of them_ in less than a week? Seriously? Means I had to spent a shitload of money on a new laptop and new versions of my specialised programmes and I spent all of Saturday trying to organise a new laptop within a few hours (my last laptop died on Saturday morning). Let me tell you, that's not an easy task during a f*** lockdown - but I managed. And thus I spent the weekend trying to get the new laptop into a state where I can actually use it because I seriously need to work to earn some money now T_T I really hope that this is the end of my bad luck spell. I can't take much more before I'm completely broke - money and nerves... XD 
> 
> So yet again I beg for a wee pick-me-up word, if you feel like it. It would go a long way to making me feel better, because comments always make me happy :D And I could do with some happy-feels right now...

  


The bombing is still going on when Evan decides to make use of the opportunity to grab at least an hour or two of sleep. He spent most of the night walking between the different watch posts on the berm, and his last tour past his own team showed that Doc and Ray had called it a night as well. Colbert assured him that they were not really expecting there to be an attack and that the armour Alpha spotted was indeed a town and not a hundred and forty tanks heading their way, so he should get some rest while he still can. 

Evan deems it wise advice, which is why he's now approaching One Alpha's Humvee and his misshapen ranger grave. For some reason his attempts to dig a rectangular hole in the ground always end up with something decidedly not rectangular. He wonders if he'll be better at it by the end of this gig. Well, even if not, at least he'll be a lot slimmer and more muscular than he was when he left for Kuwait. Linda will probably tease him about it while simultaneously trying to feed him to the point that he gets back to his normal weight, because as she said more than once when he came back from an assignment dramatically thinner, she likes it when there's some meat on his bones because it makes cuddling him so much more comfortable. That reminds him that he still has to get the picture of her back - if he ever finds it. By now he has serious doubts about that.

Evan ducks under the cammie net and immediately spots that the grave next to his is empty. It's Walt's grave, or at least he's the one who dug it out. The grave next to that one is not empty, though. It's the one Colbert excavated, which is why it's bigger than a standard grave, and Evan isn't really _that_ surprised to see both Ray _and_ Doc in it. It's not like they ever made even the faintest attempt to hide that they're huddling together for sleeping. Evan has been taught by now that there's a difference between 'huddling' and 'cuddling', but he honestly doesn't see it - not to mention that several of the men call it 'combat cuddling', which for him clearly includes the term 'cuddling'. Others said it's not cuddling, it's a 'tactical huddle' which is a survival tactic and has nothing to do with spooning even if it looks like it. 

Evan has noticed that there sure are quite a few of the men who 'huddle' together for sleeping, sometimes even in threes or fours so that they remind Evan of a pile of puppies - a term he heard Ray use and that he finds absolutely fitting - more than of the hardened Recon Marines they are. The reason they all give is that it's against the cold, which Evan can actually accept as a valid argument because he has reached the point where he wouldn't mind somebody to share a 'tactical huddle' with during the rather cold nights either. And by now he wouldn't even care at all if it's a guy or if they look like they're cuddling - as long as it's warm. Because the nights a _so very cold_ and Evan could really do with a night of real sleep, and not freezing his ass off might actually help with that. Sadly he's pretty sure that there's nobody who'd be willing to let him join their 'tactical huddle'. He's 'The Reporter', he's not one of them, and he knows it. The Marines actually include him more than he expected them to, but there are limits to how far they're willing to go, and he's pretty sure that combat cuddling is one of them. The only guy who'd probably be even remotely willing to help him out is Walt, and that's because he's just a genuinely good guy with a heart of gold. 

Evan gets his sleeping bag out of the Humvee and then walks back to his imperfect grave - he still gets teased for his sloppy excavation work every time he digs a damn hole - and when he's about to step into it his gaze lands on Brad's grave again, and suddenly Evan realises that there's something different about the picture compared to all the times beforehand. Because even in the very dim light he can see that it's _Ray_ who is _holding the Doc_ , not the other way round like it usually is. Evan has seen them sleep in the same ranger grave ever since that night by the canal at the beginning of their trip, and he's absolutely sure that that was the first time they did it - with each other, that is. 

But not once has he seen Ray wrapped around the Doc so far, which is exactly what he's witnessing now. Doc Bryan is curled up on his side and he's halfway resting on top of Ray with his face hidden against Ray's neck, and even through the sleeping bag can Evan tell that his leg is thrown over Ray's. Ray has both arms wrapped around him as far as Evan can see, one slung around Doc's back with the hand resting on his waist, and the other hand loosely wrapped around his lower arm in the bunched fabric of the MOPP suit's sleeve. Both men are completely out - which Evan can tell because they haven't reacted to his presence at all although he's not particularly quiet - but even so Ray's hold on Doc hasn't loosened. They look very cosy together, and if Evan didn't know how they usually snark at each other when they're awake, he would say they must be close. He's still wondering how it's possible that two men who're at each other's throat all the time can be so utterly comfortable cuddling this close to each other when they're asleep. It seems like a contradiction to him.

Another thing Evan finds interesting is that for some reason they have suddenly changed roles. Since he has gained more insight into the dynamics of the platoon and even the entire battalion by now, he understands that what he's seeing here is _highly_ unusual. After talking to Lieutenant Aubin, the battalion surgeon, as well as to Doc Weatherby, the corpsman of Third Platoon, Evan has now understood that Doc Bryan is on purpose keeping a distance from the men because of his role as the corpsman, while Colbert does it because he likes his peace and quiet and doesn't have the need to mingle like the other men do. 

Doc Weatherby is a chatty, good-natured fellow who couldn't be more different from Doc Bryan's usually gruff attitude, and he gave Evan some extremely valuable insights on that topic. He trained with Doc Bryan, and while they're not particularly close they know each other and get along well enough. With regard to the current bad medical supply situation of the battalion Doc Weatherby told Evan that Doc Bryan was at one point part of a mission that required him to triage due to a lack of materials and support after an incident that Doc Weatherby isn't permitted to talk about in detail. What matters is that Doc's team was not even _that_ far behind enemy lines when things went sideways, but the casevac took way too long to get to them because some officer kept it grounded to maintain the covertness of the mission and to not disclose to the enemy that they had units in the area. 

Anyway, it was a six-men team, and Doc Bryan lost two of the four injured men in his care, one of them shortly after the incident and the other in transport when the casevac finally arrived seven hours after it was called. Ever since he's been even more distant with the men he serves with than he already was before. It's not because he doesn't like them, but because he knows they can get injured or die at any given moment, and even if they _do_ die right under his hands he has to keep functioning for those still alive, so it's easier to do his job if he's not attached. It's a lesson every corpsman - or any combat medic, really - learns sooner or later, Doc Weatherby said with a shrug, but Doc Bryan learned it in one of the hardest ways possible because he did everything right, he even did way more than anybody could have asked of him, but the men still died because command didn't do its part, or rather did it too late. Had that casevac arrived in time, nobody would have died, but Doc Bryan just didn't have the resources to keep all four men alive for an unspecified amount of time that he knew would be too long, so he was forced to triage. He had to decide to let the worst injured man die in order to use the limited supplies at his disposal to save the other three, and even that wasn't enough because he lost the second worst injured man too.

Oh, and did Evan ever see that long scar running down Doc Bryan's left side? The slightly ragged and zigzagged one? Doc Weatherby continued while he gestured to his own side, and yes, Evan has seen that scar once when Doc Bryan pulled off his t-shirt one morning to do his baby wipe wash. That's also a souvenir from that mission, Doc Weatherby explained, because Doc Bryan was injured too, but after the first immediate measures to stabilise the men he just patched himself up best he could - which is why the scar is so ragged, because he had to stitch it using mainly his left hand - and then he continued taking care of his men while the only uninjured man on his team kept watch over them. Doc Bryan got himself a Bronze Star Medal with Combat 'V' for heroism for that mission, but it's probably best not to ask him about it, he really doesn't like talking about it. 

Now that he's looking at the two men in Colbert's grave with all this additional knowledge in his mind, Evan can tell that a corpsman letting one of the Recon Marines he serves with so close to him is highly unusual, _especially_ for Doc Bryan - and Evan is _not_ referring to the huddling. On one hand he's sure even corpsmen aren't immune to the cold, and on the other hand he knows that Doc Bryan made Ray get into his grave that first night for medical reasons, so there are entirely rational reasons to huddle together without it actually _meaning_ anything, and as far as Evan can tell, that held true for every time since. No, when Evan says 'close', he means it in an emotional sense, because the way Doc Bryan is tucked against Ray now is markedly different from those times before when he was wrapped around Ray to share body heat. To Evan his body language expresses vulnerability in a way it definitely didn't before, and Ray on the other hand looks like he's comforting Doc Bryan, like he's protective of him - and those aren't sentiments Evan can imagine either of them showing when they're awake, especially not this blatantly. 

No, this looks like Ray offering emotional support and Doc Bryan actually accepting it, and Evan has an inkling that what happened with those shepherd boys has something to do with it. Evan is really good at reading people - he has to be in order to be any good at his job - and he can tell that Doc Bryan was affected by it far more than he's willing to let on. The same is true for Colbert, and while they both haven't said a word about it, Evan noticed that there's something off about them. Colbert has been hiding under the Humvee the majority of the day, hacking away with more vigour than seems either appropriate or necessary at the tar that's still clinging to the undercarriage, and he's been very quiet. The Doc on the other hand seems to be holding so much anger and disappointment inside that Evan can practically feel it aggressively radiating off him, even if he also hasn't really said anything about it. 

Evan knows that many of the men are shaken by the sight of the bloodied kids combined with the knowledge that it was _them_ who did this, especially those men who were there to see the boys. And he's sure that if Colonel Ferrando hadn't agreed to have the boys casevaced, he would have lost Doc Bryan, Colbert and most likely Fick as well, and they're not the type of men to reach that point lightly. Doc and Colbert are both career servicemen - 'lifers', as the others call them - and even after knowing them for only a short period of time Evan can tell that it takes a lot to push them that far. 

He knows he himself will never forget that episode either, the blood soaked kids, their crying mother, the shock that took hold of the Marines when they realised it was their doing. Evan has the impression that Colbert feels responsible for the boys getting shot in the first place because he confirmed the free fire zone call when Lovell specifically asked about it. For a while now Evan has puzzled about why Lovell asked Colbert instead of Fick - or Schwetje, who relayed the info from command. He asked Walt about that tonight when they were on the berm because he couldn't figure it out on his own. Walt explained that Colbert is the highest ranking enlisted man in the platoon - he basically follows right behind the LT - and asking either the LT or the company commander could have come across as disobedience, while asking Colbert was free of any implication of insubordination. Evan assumes that Colbert now feels that if he hadn't confirmed the changed ROE, the boys would never have been shot, even if Evan is sure that's not actually true. It doesn't seem to him as if it was Colbert's place to countermand the order, but he doubts that will make Colbert feel any better about the whole thing.

And given what Evan knows about Doc Bryan's background now he has a good idea why he reacted the way he did to Godfather's refusal to casevac the kids, and he's glad they didn't have to find out what the Doc would have done if Godfather had persisted. He's sure it wouldn't have been pretty, and it would most likely have ended Doc Bryan's career.

Evan throws one last glance at the sleeping forms of Ray and Doc, then he turns around and tries to be very quiet when he lies down in his own grave so that he doesn't disturb their well-deserved sleep. He's just glad that Doc Bryan has found somebody he dares to lean on when for once it's _him_ who needs support, even if Evan is still vaguely surprised that that person is Ray. Well, whatever works. And this seems to be working, so he sure won't judge. 

Now it would only be very nice if that meant that they tone down their tendency to verbally massacre each other in the Humvee. Evan wonders if maybe he can dare to hope _now_ , after all they have been more civil with each other since they arrived at the airfield. But something in his gut tells him that as soon as they're back on the road, those two will be at it again just like before. They sure seem to have to much fun to stop.


	36. Brad POV

  


It's just past sunrise on their third day at the airfield when Brad returns from the berm to One Alpha's Humvee to wake Doc and Ray. Walt is still keeping watch, but of course the lights in the distance didn't come any closer than they were, not that Brad is surprised by that. Because guess what, he and Doc were right - it was a town, not approaching armour. Not that anybody in a position of power actually gave their assessment any consideration. They preferred to drop eleven thousand pounds of ordnance instead - at least that's the number currently doing the rounds. 

Brad enters the space under the cammie net besides the Humvee and first comes across Reporter curled up into a tight little ball in his misshapen ranger grave that defies any regulation. Brad decides to let him sleep as long as he wants, it was a late night and it's not like Reporter has any duties to fulfil right now. So Brad steps over him and walks over to the grave he himself excavated, meaning that it's larger than the standard requirements to accommodate his tall frame. He has no doubt that that's the reason why Ray and Tim always opt for his grave to sleep, because it's big enough to fit both of them without too much squishing. 

Brad is not at all surprised to find them in the same grave yet again. According to his count that makes it four times now, so they have crossed over well into making it a pattern. Brad's been observing them for the past few days, and so far he's found his theory confirmed that Ray actually sleeps when he's combat cuddling with Tim. He's rested afterwards in a way he's not when he sleeps - or _tries_ to sleep - on his own and he definitely consumes less Ripped Fuel, which Brad certainly approves.

When Brad gets to his grave and is just about to kneel down to shake his sleeping teammates awake, he freezes mid-movement, and for a moment he doesn't quite believe his eyes. Ray is lying on his back in the grave and Tim is _curled up_ halfway on top of him, his arm stretched out across Ray's chest and his hand resting on Ray's side, and his leg is thrown over Ray's. Ray's arms are wrapped around Tim's body, one hand on his waist and the other has found its way to Tim's shoulder, holding him close in a gesture that is unmistakably protective. What strikes Brad the most, though, is how Tim has buried his face against the side of Ray's neck, his nose touching the skin of Ray's throat, his eyes closed and his face relaxed. He looks peaceful and at ease in a way Brad has never seen on him before, not even those times when he got to see him asleep. Ray's head is turned towards Tim's, and there's a little content smile on his mouth even in sleep.

Brad hovers above the grave for a moment, re-evaluating the situation. This is new. This is... different. This is not a tactical huddle, this is not about sharing body heat, this is about support, about... _comfort_. This is _genuine cuddling_. Not to mention that Brad knows from years of experience that Ray's a light sleeper, he usually would have woken by now to at least check who it is that came so close to his grave. The same is true for Tim, Brad knows he's usually very aware of his surroundings even while asleep. But now not one of them has moved or reacted at all, they're both still out, and Brad knows it's not due to exhaustion, because he's seem them in an exhausted state before, and they'd still woken up to anybody approaching their position.

Hmm, maybe Brad underestimated this thing. Because he knows Ray and he knows Tim, and this is not typical behaviour for either of them. Ray doesn't relax like this on deployments, he doesn't let his guard down and never shows his soft side around other Marines. And Tim never displays vulnerability like he is doing right now, and he certainly doesn't seek strength and comfort in the arms of a fellow Marine, never mind somebody he doesn't know well and doesn't really get along with. Not that Brad's complaining about them getting some hours of real sleep, he's very well aware that they both need it - especially Ray - but this might mean complications of an entirely different kind and of a completely different scale. Missiles and oil fields not mixing safely aren't quite his only problem anymore if this becomes what he thinks it might become. He could potentially lose two very good men from his team if the wrong people got the right idea. 

Brad is well aware that Ray is bisexual - Ray's not exactly shy about it in settings where he doesn't have to be careful. Fact is that they've been to gay and bi clubs before when they were well away from any military installation, so it's not like Brad has an issue with it, especially considering that he's bi himself, even if he's much less open about it than Ray - for obvious reasons. The Marines are his life, and he won't risk that for a few hours of fun with some random guy. Ray on the other hand hits on anything with legs that attracts his attention, especially when he's drunk, and Brad has seen him successfully charm guys and girls in the same evening. It's never been a problem because Ray knows to keep it enough under wraps in a professional setting that it doesn't endanger his career, and he never _genuinely_ hit on any fellow servicemen. 

But this thing developing here with Tim... Brad suspects that at least Ray was flirting then, after all. Tim, though, he can't really say. So far Brad always assumed Tim is straight, but then he doesn't tend to say much about it either way. He doesn't seem to be very interested in the porn mags circulating in the company, but not all the men are, so that's no indication for anything. Tim's just a more reserved and private kind of guy than most of the other men in the platoon. 

So that leaves Brad with a situation where Ray might potentially be interested in Tim in more than just a teammate - talk about opposites attracting. The question is just if it's purely physical - which can be controlled easily enough - or... more. And Brad has no status on Tim's take on things. A difficult and dangerous situation, especially when combined with DADT and them being in a fucking war zone right now, smack in the middle of an invasion. Now, _that_ is bad timing, even spectacularly bad. He just hopes that Ray can keep his attraction to Tim at bay if he really is interested in him. At least long enough for this tour to be over, until they're on leave stateside so that it doesn't blow up in their faces. Especially if Tim is indeed straight or simply not interested in Ray. 

Why again does Brad's life have to be so complicated? This is supposed to be a war, not a soap opera with a Romeo-and-Juliet storyline where DADT takes the place of the rivalling families forcing the lovers into secrecy. If he loses two of his best men to joint suicide caused by miscommunication, Brad will be seriously pissed.

Brad suppresses a sigh and then reaches into the ranger grave to shake Tim's shoulder hard enough to jostle Ray awake along with him. They both snap awake instantly, which is no surprise to Brad, and he makes it a point to turn around and leave them to sort out this situation on their own. He can't be bothered to deal with their drama right now, for now he'll just observe and he'll only intervene if it becomes necessary. After all, he has no way of truly predicting where this will go. Maybe this worrying is all for naught and nothing more happens than Ray and Tim becoming grave mates to the mutual benefit of their sleep quality. Wouldn't be the first time that Brad encounters very dedicated but purely platonic grave mates. Heck, even Chaffin, Manimal and Garza huddle together when it gets cold, and none of them is even remotely into men.

The day is rather relaxed compared to the days before. They've done all the repairs and maintenance work on the Humvees and the heavy weapons, and now there's not much left to do. Of course that's the moment when Sixta makes his rounds pestering them with the grooming standard, and it's even annoying Brad although he knows Sixta is doing it to give the men something to fixate on so that they're distracted enough not to come up with the dangerous and stupid shit that highly trained, bored young men tend to come up with. 

The afternoon finds Team One lazying around their Humvee, with Brad slouched on the hood of their victor studying a map book and Walt lounging on the roof of the Humvee, napping with one arm across is eyes to keep the light out, while Reporter is off cruising the encampment in his quest for stories and background information. Tim is sitting with the worn Clive Cussler novel - the one that half the platoon already read - in the shade of the cammie net in Brad's ranger grave facing the Humvee, a duffel in his back to make it more comfortable. Ray is lounging just outside the cammie net in the sun on a poncho wearing just his skivvies and his horrible Elvis-sunglasses, and he explained that this was his attempt to roast off the zits on his back and chest. Brad is sure the only thing he will achieve is to give himself the mother of all sunburns. Ray is pasty like mozzarella, it's not like his skin has any resistance to the sun.

Well, maybe Brad doesn't need to worry, because he can tell that Tim is watching Ray, and Brad is pretty sure that he will speak up before he has a full-body sunburn to treat during an invasion, especially on somebody as talkative as Ray who also happens to be in the same victor as Tim. So yeah, Brad knows that Tim is watching Ray over his book, but damn, Tim's _good_ at hiding what he's doing. If Brad wasn't specifically looking for it and if he didn't know Tim as well as he does, he never would have noticed. He's sure Ray hasn't in fact become aware of Tim's newfound attention.

Brad can't help seeing the irony of the situation, because he also noticed that ever since the shepherd kids Ray's not only been keeping an eye on Tim, but he's also making an effort not to annoy him. Brad is well aware that the episode with the shepherd boys not only hit Brad himself, but other men as well - especially Tim, who obviously was a lot deeper involved in the entire thing by being the one who took care of them and escorted them to RCT-1's field hospital. Brad himself has now stowed the entire incident in a firmly closed compartment in the back of his mind with all those other firmly closed compartments that contain mutilated civilians and schwacked hamlets full of women and children. Tim's not quite at that stage yet, but Brad feels like he's a little bit better off today than he was yesterday. Brad can't help wondering if that has something to do with Ray and the comfort Tim seems to have found sleeping in his arms. Ray is also more relaxed and much less strung up today, and if Brad's approximate count is correct, Ray only took one Ripped Fuel capsule throughout the entire day - and that's a new record low. Hmm. Seems Ray and Tim are good for each other.

At some point in the afternoon Rudy comes by their victor and invites them to a little fight club event he established with some of the other men in the centre of Bravo Two's assigned area. Tim gets up almost immediately as if he's really eager to get into the ring, and Brad can tell that he's burning with the need to let off some steam, some of the pressure that's been building up exponentially fast since the shepherd boys. Brad sure understands the sentiment. 

Except for those who are on watch duty there's almost all of Bravo Two gathered around the ring that is nothing more than a rough circle drawn in the sand with the tip of a boot. They always fight one against one, every round takes four minutes and the goal is to beat your opponent into submission before the time is up. It's highly competitive and Brad enjoys the thrill of it, the physical activity and the rush of winning. He claims four of the five rounds he fights, and only one time is he defeated, but since it's Rudy he loses against, Brad doesn't take it too hard. Nobody wins in mixed martial arts against Rudy, and nobody is ashamed to lose against him. 

Brad follows Ray's fights with interest, it's always a treat to see him fight because he's such a different kind of fighter than pretty much all the other guys. Because of his smaller size his range is also generally shorter than his opponent's, and Ray has learned to compensate for it by anticipating their movements and relying on his superior speed while at the same time teasing and needling them with words and gestures to make them become careless. He's what Brad would call a perfect mixture of an instinctive and a cunning fighter, and it allows him to win against taller and stronger guys four times out of six and makes him a very worthy opponent. Tim on the other hand fights much like Brad himself, he's cool and composed and totally in control of his body, and he tends to read and analyse his opponent and then predicts his moves. Along with Rudy, Brad and Pappy he's one of the best fighters in the platoon, and only Brad and Rudy manage to win against him in his five rounds in the ring.

When Ray and Tim end up in the ring together Brad can't help watching with great interest, even if he makes sure that it doesn't show on his face. It's the first time they're facing off since they stepped off, and they clearly enjoy it immensely. Brad wonders how much of the pent-up tension between them finally finds some kind of outlet that doesn't require them to physically hold back like they have to when snarking at each other in the Humvee. Brad's not really surprised that they're almost evenly matched, Tim is just a little better because he has the advantage of a few more years of experience. But in the end it's close, and Tim only manages to get Ray into a headlock and actually hold him there some ten seconds before the end of their four minutes. By then they're both sweating and panting, but Brad can see the huge grins of satisfaction on their faces that come from a good fight. 

The tables turn in Ray's favour when they decide to play the game 'Tap-Out Pass-Out' that's kind of a Bravo Two classic. It's basically ground fighting only, and there's just one rule which is that eye gauging is not allowed for obvious reasons. The only way to finish the game is for one of the fighters to either pass out or tap out - and Brad has learned a long time ago that Ray absolutely excels on the ground. Ray has already won against Manimal, Leon and Lovell by the time he faces off against Rudy, and everybody watches in astonishment how Ray takes him down and Rudy ends up tapping out. Brad finds it amusing that the men are still taken by surprise by it every single time again, despite the fact that they all have seen Ray defeat Rudy on the ground more than once. Rudy is without a doubt the best fighter in the entire company, but Ray is their ground fighting champion - small and dirty. 

It gets interesting again when Ray and Tim meet in the ring for a second time. Ray wins - not that Brad is surprised by it - and Tim takes it with grace and easily admits his defeat, acknowledging it with a nod and a handshake. But that's not what catches Brad's attention. No, it's the way they fight, the way they move that stands out to him, and he's absolutely certain that he's not the only one noticing. They're so incredibly in sync that it's impossible _not_ to notice because it's as if they can predict each other with an ease they shouldn't have given that they've fought each other not even a handful of times. It reminds Brad of Rudy and Pappy, who almost seem to turn into one entity in the ring in a way that impresses even the most experienced Marines. It's one of the reasons why the make such an exceptionally good sniper team. For a moment Brad wonders if they also started out as grave mates, then he rolls his eyes at himself and pushes the thought away to concentrate on the fight.

Ray and Tim start off by kneeling in front of each other in the sand of their makeshift ring, then they bump their fists together and wait for Pappy to give them the green light. As soon as they get it, they go at it for real. Their movements are fluent and surprisingly quick and look like a dance on the ground more than a fight by how seamlessly they're changing positions, taking the other into a lock just to wriggle out of it and turn the tables, neither of them able to hold a position for long. Tim's not a bad ground fighter at all, but Brad can see that Ray is better. They're both covered in sand within a minute and their t-shirts and pants have pretty much changed colour. 

Ray wins by taking Tim in a spine crank, and Brad can tell that he's measuring the strength he's applying as well as the range of the twisting motion precisely so that it doesn't cause any injury, which is in and of itself a testament of his proficiency. Tim taps out, clearly knowing that he's completely immobilised, and Ray eases his hold immediately. Both of them relax and remain lying where they are with Ray halfway underneath Tim's back, both of them panting heavily but grinning, and the guys around them cheer loudly because it was a great fight to watch. 

Tim gets up first and holds his hand out to Ray who accepts it and allows Tim to pull him up. Ray's grinning at Tim, and Brad can read him well enough to be able to tell that it's not smug or triumphant, it's an expression of pure enjoyment of the high that an intense, challenging and satisfying fight leaves behind. Tim returns the expression without hesitation, almost unguarded and easy, and Brad wonders if they're noticing that they're holding onto each other's hands longer than strictly necessary before they let go.

Pappy declares Ray the winner and then calls out for the next two volunteers, and Stiney and Budweiser step into the ring while Ray and Tim join the men forming a circle around it. They're both still grinning and brimming with satisfaction and contentment while they're cheering on Stiney and Budweiser, and Brad finds himself thinking that maybe the bickering between them is indeed flirting, and maybe the flirting is just a stepping stone considering how many similarities he just found to Rudy and Pappy, the most dedicated and close couple he knows with maybe the exception of his own parents. 

Brad eyes Ray and Tim where they're positioned among the other men in the rough circle of their makeshift ring, standing close enough that their shoulders bump together occasionally while they're cheering, both of them focussed on the fight going on in front of them. 

Yeah, he'll definitely have to keep an eye on this. A _very careful_ eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are the best feel-good medicine on the planet, and I'd love you for giving me a wee dose of it :D


	37. Ray POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, this is Ray's very creative and vivid imagination at its best... I hope you enjoy it as much as he does XD

  
"Hey, Doc?"

Ray turns around to look towards Tim who's standing by the hood of the Humvee and where now Christeson is approaching him, looking decidedly sheepish. 

"What's up, Christeson?" Tim asks with a look that tells Ray that he's expecting one of those dumb things that they're all prone to, and Ray has to admit that he's most likely correct in that assumption given the look on Christeson's face. The sheepish expression is so pronounced that Ray can easily recognise it even in the last fading light of dusk with the sun already long gone.

"Ahem, we could use your help over at our vehicle." Christeson begins to explain and looks even more sheepish. "Q-Tip has this large blister on the heel of his foot and he didn't stop fiddling with it and now it's bleeding all over the place..."

"You kids need to learn to leave wounds alone. And that includes blisters." Tim sighs in long-suffering annoyance and rolls his eyes, but he's already moving to the back of the Humvee where his medical bag is sitting on his seat. "Let me guess, he didn't want you to come get me."

"Ahem, no, not exactly." Christeson confirms and Ray is amazed that he manages to look even _more_ sheepish. That's quite a skill. "But he can't come over himself given that his foot's bleeding and he'll give himself blood poisoning if he gets dirt and camel dung in the wound while walking here, and I told him that you'd kill him if he just tapes it over with tissues and rigger tape..."

"Oh yes, I would indeed." Tim replies in a low growl that is slightly scary while he's stepping over the ranger graves to join Christeson where he's still waiting right outside the cammie net. Ray follows Tim with his gaze from his position in the turret and then watches him cross the camp over towards Hitman Two's command vehicle, Christeson following half a step behind him. He's obviously still talking, probably explaining what happened in much more detail than Tim actually requires, but Tim just lets him ramble on. 

It's strange to suddenly be all alone in the Humvee, it's not something that happened often since they stepped off. Brad and Walt are up on the berm with the Mark-19 because they took the first watch, which means that now is the time to sleep for Ray and Tim before they take the second watch tonight. Ray is tired, too, because he only took one little Ripped Fuel capsule this morning - which is a new record for him since the beginning of this invasion, and he attributes it to his hot-Doc bottle and this awesome sleep medication effect that he has on Ray. On top of that the day was rather lazy and Ray got to doze a bit here and there, which was a really nice change of pace. 

The day was full of firsts, actually, and they all concern Ray's and Tim's... interactions? Contact? Relationship? Well, whatever you want to call it, it sure influenced their behaviour towards each other. It began this morning, after Brad woke them and then thankfully left them to their own devices after shaking them awake. Ray wonders what he's thinking about this new sleeping habit of Ray's, and although Brad hasn't said a word so far, Ray's sure he has _plenty_ of thoughts about it. Brad's not dumb, after all, he has seen the way Ray and Tim usually snark and bicker and how they don't really get along, and now they're suddenly sleeping in the same grave at every single opportunity they get? Yeah, that's bound to raise an eyebrow or two, Ray's well aware of that. 

Neither Walt nor Reporter have said anything either so far, and Ray knows they know. It's not like it's a secret what he and Tim are doing, they're not the only guys sharing a grave, and combat cuddling is fairly common when it gets as cold as it does here at night. Ray has done it tons of times before and he knows that all of the other guys have, too. But the fact that it's _him and Tim_ is what makes this noteworthy, nobody would have bat an eyelid if it was him and Walt or even him and Brad - which has happened, although it's rarer than cuddle sessions with Walt. To be honest, Ray's perfectly fine with Brad keeping his opinions to himself for now, because he himself doesn't even know what's happening, so the last thing he wants is having Brad dissect this... _thing_ with Tim. 

See, he's not even sure what to call it - but he _is_ sure that there's some kind of _thing_ developing. It started out as an act of medical assistance, if you want to call it that, because Ray is perfectly aware that the first time Tim ordered Ray to come over and use his body heat to stop shivering, it was nothing but that - Tim being Doc. Ray is absolutely certain that Tim would have done the same thing with every other man in the company, whether he likes him or not, because that's what a corpsman does. He takes care of the men in whatever way necessary, and if that means that additional warmth is required and there's nothing he can use but his own body heat, then he'll do it. 

Even the second time they shared a grave might still fall into that same category considering that Ray was beginning to crash from Ripped Fuel and adrenaline as much as from exhaustion. But the third time, two days ago after the thing with the shepherd boys? Nope, no way. Ray wasn't crashing from anything at that point, and of course neither was Tim. They didn't even need the body heat, they could have slept on their own just like they did the night before in the Humvee, and they would have been perfectly fine. But they still did it, Tim still extended his invitation, and Ray never hesitated to take him up on it. Not because he needed it, but because he _wanted_ it.

And tonight... No, tonight had absolutely _nothing_ to do with medical assistance in any way, not even if you squint really really hard. If pressed to define it, Ray would say that it was about comfort. Not his, but Tim's, and that is in itself a game changer. Something shifted between them, he can feel it. The moment Tim not only accepted Ray's offer to share the grave, but decided to invert their previously established roles and have _Ray_ hold _him_ , something fundamental changed. Ray can't quite define yet what or in which way, but the fact alone that Tim called him 'Ray' for the first time since they met is a sure sign that things are different. A week ago he would _never ever_ have addressed Ray by anything other than his rank or last name - heck, not even after their first or even second night of combat cuddling. 

Another sign is that after Brad woke them up this morning, they just stayed in the ranger grave for another minute or two, and Ray was surprised and maybe a bit amazed that Tim didn't move away, that he didn't get up right away and maybe pretended like nothing had happened, like he hadn't spend the night sleeping in Ray's arms, like he hadn't been seeking comfort _in Ray_. Instead Tim just remained where he was, draped halfway on top of Ray with his head resting against Ray's neck and Ray's arms still wrapped around him. He continued to feel relaxed against Ray, the tension not yet back in his frame, and Ray could feel him take a deep, slow breath as if he was fortifying for the day that was about to begin. Only then did he push off of Ray, and when he was propped up on his arms he'd given Ray a long look, then he'd inclined his head in something that seemed like thanks, acknowledgement and appreciation all wrapped in one subtle gesture before he got up and left the grave to start his day. 

The day was overall surprisingly nice and relaxed, and the best - and simultaneously the worst - part of it was the time they spent in Rudy's makeshift fight club this afternoon. It was so much fun to finally compete with the other men again, to get some good fighting in and enjoy the thrill of the action and the feeling of satisfaction when it was over. An added bonus was the triumph every time he won a match, and the cheering he got for it made him feel content and a little smug. So that was all nice and good, but the bad part about it is that it gave Ray's imagination more Tim-related fodder than it ever should have gotten. The first kind of fodder are all the visuals he got of Tim when he was fighting, which was a treat to watch not just because Tim is hot as hell, but also because he's an extremely good fighter and there's a kind of calm elegance to his fighting style that reminds Ray of a dangerous wild cat. 

Not to forget those huge, genuinely pleased grins Ray got to see today - yes, plural, and some of them were even directed _at him_ when he and Tim were fighting each other. Tim was so fucking _beautiful_ , all sweaty and covered in sand and grinning so widely that Ray could only return the expression because it was so contagious. Now, 'beautiful' is not a word Ray expected to associate with Tim. Hot, sexy, gorgeous, handsome, yes to all of the above, but _beautiful_? No, he didn't think he'd ever use that word to describe Tim, but it's the only one that fits - and Ray has _a lot_ of words, seriously, he's not lacking in that department, but it's still the only appropriate term he can come up with. Now Ray also knows that Tim's gorgeous eyes indeed turn warm and content and crinkle when he smiles - or, well, grins. It doesn't quite count as that smile Ray bet he would get, so he doesn't consider himself out of his bind yet. It was clearly a grin more than a smile, after all, and Ray won't bend his own rules. That would be cheating. Not to mention that he still really _really_ wants to see Tim genuinely smile at him. It's not just about the bet, he wants to know how it feels to have such an expression directed at him.

But the visuals aren't the only inspiration Ray got - no, the _real_ issue is the unbelievably rich amount of sensory fodder he got when _he_ was fighting _with Tim_ \- everything from scents to sounds to feeling his gorgeous hot body under Ray's hands and pressed against him in various positions. And to make matters worse, Ray has noticed that since their fights this afternoon, Tim has begun to touch him in a way he didn't before - a hand offered to pull him off the ground, a bump of their shoulders when they were standing next to each other in the circle of men around the makeshift ring, and then there was his hand on the small of Ray's back when their fight club afternoon ended and they all made their way back to their Humvees. Considering how pointedly Tim did _not_ touch Ray before outside of treating his burns or them sleeping, it's something Ray noticed immediately. And fuck, he likes it. He _loves_ it, feeling Tim's large hands with their long, elegant fingers on him, and it would be even better if it was on his bare skin. Damn, what those fingers could do to him...

Fuck, if he doesn't rein in his thoughts he'll get a massive boner as soon as Tim touches him the next time. And if that happens while they're sharing their grave without it being morning - meaning that the morning wood excuse doesn't work - then that's _not_ a good thing. Hitting on Tim generally seems like a _very bad idea_ , not just because of the fact that they're in the middle of invading a hostile country, but also because of something teeny-tiny called DADT and the fact that Ray has no idea what Tim's opinion is concerning nice hot gay sex. Since Ray's bi he doesn't much care either way, fun is fun no matter the gender of his partner, but he's well aware that most people are not quite that open-minded about it. Especially guys in any military branch make it a point to come across as super-straight whether they are or not, which Ray finds quite ironic given that they're one of the most homoerotic bunches Ray has come across. 

Well, it's mostly a topic everybody bullshits about but nobody _seriously_ talks about, especially not openly and truthfully - not with DADT around and the risk of losing their job because of it. Rudy and Pappy only get away with their Epic True Love Story - yes, that has to be capitalised - because one, they're a sniper team; two, they're so fucking good at their jobs that nobody's even in the same street as them; three, Pappy is the coldest killer in the platoon; and four, Rudy is Recon Marine perfection and nobody can compete with him because, well, he's _Rudy_. On top of that they're among the most popular guys in the entire platoon, maybe even the company, and nobody has ever known them other than bonded together like a freaking old married couple. Thinking one without the other almost feels like blasphemy, so basically they're an open secret even if nobody has ever seen them kiss or anything as unambiguous as that, even if there's no actual irrefutable _proof_. And despite the latent homophobia that seems to exist in the platoon and in the military in general, Ray knows that every single Bravo man will die defending them because they're their brothers. Ray sure would. Just seeing them fight together today was awe-inspiring, their perfect sync, their harmony, their impressive skill, the speed of their exchange of blows... Yeah, there aren't many guys who even manage to get close to their perfection. 

That reminds Ray of his own fights with Tim, and he has to admit that it felt pretty perfect - the way they moved together, the alternation of attacks and parries, how they seemed to match each other in skill and speed, how in both the standing fighting and the ground fighting the victory was hard won and a very close call. Ray has rarely enjoyed a fight as much as those two he had with Tim. Not to mention that it was a treat to get to feel Tim so close to him, especially when he won their round of ground fighting and loosened the spine crank he'd used to take Tim out, and then he felt Tim lying against him, panting but relaxed and a delicious weight against Ray's own body. Just thinking about it leaves a burning sensation in his belly that wanders lower to his dick... Maybe he could...

Ray looks around and then decides that now is the _perfect_ time to take matter in his own hands - literally - and to get that combat jack in that he's been planning to have. He has as much privacy as he's going to get, what with the darkness of the night as well as the Humvee surrounding him where he's standing in the turret. Brad and Walt are far removed on the berm and Tim is over at the command vehicle, not to mention that Ray will be able to see him approach from his elevated position. So yes, he'll go for it. _Now_. Because he's already half hard in his fucking disgusting MOPP suit just from thinking about how delicious Tim felt against him and under his hands today when they were ground fighting, how firm his thighs were when Ray grabbed them to turn him around, how strong his arms were when they wrapped around Ray to hold him down, how his large hands felt gripping Ray's legs...

_Oh yes_ , this is working nicely... Ray opens the MOPP suit jacket, glad that he already took off his flak vest, and then he undoes his pants and slides his right hand inside his boxer briefs to grab his dick in the kind of firm hold he likes. He wonders immediately what it would feel like to have Tim's hand wrapped around his cock because while Tim has reasonable large hands his fingers are long and elegant and Ray's sure they'd know _exactly_ how to hold his dick, how to work him. He wonders how it would feel to lean back into Tim where he'd be standing behind Ray, a solid presence and very comfortable to lean against. He can imagine Tim jerking him in perfectly measured movements that are meant to make Ray lose his mind, his thumb ever so often passing over the tip and spreading the leaking precum, and all the while he'd be pressing his hard dick against Ray's ass even through the pants, and he'd move with Ray's thrusts in a slow rhythm that pushes Ray higher and higher. 

Hmmm, this is _Ray's_ fantasy, so why not get rid of the clothes? _Yeah_ , that's better. Now he can feel the warm expanse of Tim's firm chest and stomach against his back, and _hello_ , now there's his dick without any fabric to separate it from Ray's ass, and it's sliding between his thighs and rubbing most deliciously behind his balls. Ray wonders if Tim has any scars or tattoos, if the undisturbed plains of soft skin he's imagining are maybe marked with puckered skin or patches of colour. He must admit that he never paid Tim enough attention in those situations where he might have had the opportunity to see it. Pity. He will remedy that in the future, whenever possible. 

The scene in his mind suddenly changes and he's conjuring up the picture of Tim naked except for that fucking bandana that Ray might be developing a kink for, and now Tim's standing in front of Ray with his back turned towards him and his hands on the hood of the Humvee, his legs spread, and Ray's sliding into him, slow and teasing and driving Tim crazy with it to the point that he pushes back on Ray's dick, and then Ray's buried inside him all the way to his balls, and he can feel how fucking tight Tim is, how hot and perfect, and Ray leans in to touch his lips to the base of Tim's neck before he begins to suck a mark there, and Tim presses back into it with a soft, low groan, encouraging Ray to keep going. And Ray's buried to the hilt inside him while he keeps sucking, and he can feel Tim getting so fucking turned on by it, by Ray's dick in his ass and Ray's mouth on the back of his neck and Ray's hold on his hips, and Ray imagines that Tim's hip bones would fit into Ray's hands perfectly, as if made for him. 

Only when Ray's happy with the mark he left does he begin to move, he almost slides out of Tim, and then he takes Tim's cock in a firm grip and thrust back into him, and Tim arches his head back and there's a louder, stronger, less restrained version of that gravelly groan leaving his mouth. Ray sets up a slow rhythm at first, sensual and teasing, until he has Tim writhing with each nudge to his prostate, and only then does Ray speed up and use more strength on his thrusts that now hit Tim's prostate so hard that Tim pushes back on Ray's dick and forward into his tight fist in his greed for more, and he's lost in it and fuck, he's so beautiful, the arch of his back and the delicious sounds he's making and how hot he feels around Ray when he slides in and out of Tim's gorgeous tight ass, and he can hear Tim's low, hoarse groan, can feel how he's coming, how he's clenching down around Ray's dick, and _fuck yes yes yes yessssss_... 

Ray comes in his hand that sadly is not Tim's gorgeous tight ass, but for now it'll do. He pulses in his fist and with his last remaining faculties Ray makes sure that he doesn't shoot his load all over the Humvee but only into his hand. There are few things Brad won't forgive him for, but jizz all over the Humvee is most certainly one of them. Especially considering that Ray's facing towards the front passenger seat, which means that Brad's seat would get the most of it. Yeah, he'd string Ray up. And probably draw and quarter him for good measure. Publicly.

Ray is panting and he feels his skin tingling in the aftermath of a most awesome first combat jack in country, and he takes a moment to regain his composure before he begins cleaning up. Fuck, Tim is absolutely _amazing_ jerk-off fantasy material. Works so much better than random pussy and tits. Even better than he expected. Wow. Just wow. 

When Ray has recovered enough that his legs are steady again - fuck, that was an _amazing_ orgasm - he tucks himself away, gets dressed again and then takes care of the tissue he used to clean up. He gets some water out of his bottle to wash his hands, then he drinks some of it and wonders what he should do now. He feels pleasantly mellow in the aftermath of his nice combat jack, yet he's reluctant to go to sleep - or try to go to sleep - in the grave without Tim. Yes, he's well aware that it's childish, but he really wants him there, and it feels oddly important that tonight - after that strange shift from last night - he's awake and alert when Tim comes back and that he'll make sure that Tim knows that Ray wants to continue this thing, whatever it is they're doing. He has the indefinable feeling that if he doesn't make that clear, Tim will pull back and re-establish the distance that existed between them before last night, and Ray won't have that. Nope. He'll make sure that he gets to keep his cuddly hot-Doc bottle, and that Tim knows he's always welcome to use Ray as his hot-Ray bottle. Well, maybe he won't put it into those _exact_ words. 

Ray decides that he'll preheat their ranger grave and wait there for Tim's return, and then he'll drag Tim into the grave and cuddle him to death. Or something like that, it's only a rough plan and Ray's brain may be a bit hazy with post-coital bliss. So Ray gets his sleeping bag out of the Humvee and then returns to Brad's large grave, unfurls the sleeping bag and then lies down underneath it. The earth is fucking freezing, and Ray realises that this is the first time since the canal that he's in a ranger grave alone when going to sleep. Well, or waiting to go to sleep, in this case. It's cold and uncomfortable and he doesn't like it at all. Damn, he managed to turn into a spoiled brat within just a few nights. 

It's been maybe ten minutes since Ray lay down when he hears the crunching of boots entering the space under the cammie net. Ray is a bit surprised to realise that he can tell that it's Tim even without being able to see him, just from the few sounds he makes while walking. Ray sits up in the ranger grave so that he can watch Tim and follows him with his gaze when he moves to his side of the Humvee to stow his medical bag and get his sleeping bag. He seems a lot more relaxed than last night, the tension in his frame is nowhere near as bad as it was then, but Ray can still feel the edge of doubt and frustration on him. The fighting today definitely helped him to release some of the pressure, but it's not gone, the issue is not resolved. The explosion was just postponed, so to say. 

When Tim turns around to face the ranger graves he looks in Ray's direction, and then he hesitates and for a moment he seems unsure, something so uncharacteristic for him that Ray finds his inkling confirmed that Tim will re-establish his boundaries if Ray doesn't prevent it _right now_. 

"Get over here." Ray prompts and makes it a point to fold back the sleeping bag in a clear invitation, the same gesture that Tim used with him before. For a moment Tim stays frozen where he is, and suddenly Ray dreads that Tim might not take him up on his offer, that he might decide that this went too far already and he doesn't really like Ray after all and he will put a stop to it now, once and for all.

Before Ray can lose himself in the horror scenarios his mind loves coming up with, Tim begins to move. He comes over to the grave they have shared the past two nights and then spreads his sleeping bag on top of Ray's. The gesture alone makes Ray almost sigh in relief because it means that Tim will not pull back, he will not kick Ray out of the blissful, strange _thing_ they're developing. Tim steps into the grave where Ray shifted to the side to give him space, and then he lies down next to Ray who's resting on his side. But instead of cuddling up behind him, Ray feels Tim's hand on his shoulder, exerting gentle pressure that Ray follows until he comes to lie on his back.

Ray's curious where this is going. Tim is looking down at him from where he's propped up on his arm over Ray, and his face may be blank but his eyes are so incredibly expressive to Ray. He can see tentative hope, but mostly Tim seems wary and careful and maybe even a little afraid. It's an expression that Ray has never seen on Tim and that he never expected to see on him either, and it gives him that same feeling he had last night - that he's given a precious gift, and he wants to prove himself worthy of it. Ray reaches out and wraps his arm around Tim's waist where he's lying next to Ray, and then he pulls him close, all the while _really_ hoping that he read Tim right. He gives Tim a little smile that he hopes is as encouraging and reassuring as he intends it to be, then he settles his other hand on Tim's shoulder and guides him down on top of Ray. 

He's so fucking relieved when Tim follows his gestures without any hesitation, which means that Ray _did_ read him right after all and Tim indeed wants to repeat their sleeping arrangement from last night. Tim shifts down a little until he can lie pressed against Ray's side with his head resting on Ray's shoulder again like he did yesterday, and his arm settles across Ray's chest and Ray can feel his hand on his side and his leg pushed over Ray's. For a moment Tim still feels tense, like he's still unsure of this, but then he takes a deep breath and when he exhales the tension leaves his frame. Ray can feel him relax against him, how he becomes a heavy, pliant weight halfway on top of him, and never before did Ray realise how much he loves that sensation. 

Ray tucks the sleeping bags over them and then wraps his arms around Tim again. He allows his nose to come to rest on Tim's bandana where his head is tucked under Ray's chin, and the sense of peace and comfort that washes over Ray feels like nothing he has experienced so far. It's right then that Ray realises that he might be in trouble. Yes, he's physically attracted to Tim - no sense in trying to deny _that_ after his most recent combat jack - but this here has nothing to do with physical attraction. This feels more like it does when... when Ray really likes somebody, which doesn't happen to him often. He has a lot of flings and he certainly loves having tons of sex, but usually he's not... let's call it 'emotionally involved'. Usually it's just about having fun, nothing more. It's not like his lifestyle is very compatible with relationships, considering that he's gone for months on deployments and the other time he can't even be seen with half of his dates because of shitty DADT. And really, he's still young, he's just twenty-two, it's not like he's been looking to settle down and have two and a half kids and a house with a white picket fence or anything disgustingly middle-class like that. 

"Ray?" Tim's low voice catches Ray by surprise and pulls him out of his thoughts, and he immediately latches onto the fact that Tim used his given name - only for the second time _ever_. Ray noticed that he avoided using any form of address for him all throughout the day, and he's wondering if maybe that's because Tim wasn't sure anymore which name to use - which name he _wants_ to use. That's an interesting thought, because it means that Tim sees a difference in calling him 'Person' or in using 'Ray' instead. And fuck, it sounds so sexy and good how Tim says his given name in this low, gravelly shade of voice that makes a shiver run down Ray's spine. Damn, he's _so so glad_ that he took care of business beforehand, because hearing his name _like that_ in combination with feeling Tim pressed all against him certainly would have made him get hard. Like, _rock hard_. Instantly. An instant boner, so to say. Damn, he'd be rich if he could patent that. 

"Hmm?" Ray hums in reply against the bandana touching his lips. He's well aware that so far Tim hasn't actually given him permission to use his first name, so Ray doesn't. At least not out loud. In Ray's mind he has stopped being 'Doc' ever since last night and he became 'Tim', the guy Ray held in his arms - who he's holding right now - and who curled up to him in something that Ray is tempted to call trust. He dares to hope that it is, considering that Tim is doing it again now. 

"Can you teach me that spine crank you used today to take me down?"

Okay, so that's not _at all_ what Ray expected and it takes him a moment to regain his composure. "Yeah, sure."

Tim hums under his breath in something that Ray thinks might be a wordless 'thank you'. For a moment they're quiet, then Tim delivers his next blow to Ray's composure. "You're really good at ground fighting."

It feels like ten times more of a compliment coming from _Tim_ , and Ray is caught completely off guard by it because Tim almost never hands out praise, and certainly not _to Ray_ of all people. Not in this lifetime, anyway. Ray doesn't even have words to form a reply, and that's saying a lot. He wonders if Tim knows what effect his words are bound to have and is doing this on purpose, and Ray feels like he might be on to something when he hears a low chuckle before Tim continues talking. "And I have to make sure that I can whip your ass, so I need you to teach me those moves. You're obviously the better ground fighter out of the two of us, and I like to learn from the best."

Ray swallows hard and it takes him an embarrassing amount of time until he finds his voice. "Are you _trying_ to make me blush?"

"Am I succeeding?" Oh, there's smugness in that voice. And teasing. Definitely teasing.

"You're getting there." Ray admits and he wonders if Tim can hear or feel how fast his heart is beating. Hopefully not. "Why the compliments all of the sudden? Didn't you say I'm an annoying little shit?"

"No, I said you're 'the most annoying little shit I ever encountered'." Tim corrects him evenly, still in that beautiful gravelly voice that Ray's beginning to love. "I never said that you're an _incompetent_ little shit."

Ray thinks about that for a moment, and yes, it's actually true. "Was that another compliment or did you just insult me?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe what? Maybe a compliment or maybe an insult?"

Tim just chuckles. "Night, Ray."

"Aww, Doc, that's not fair!" Ray whines, not that he's expecting it to help him in any way.

"Night, Ray." Tim repeats, and Ray can hear the smirk in his voice even if he can't see it. 

Ray pouts for a moment longer, then he sighs pointedly and tightens his hold on Tim just a little bit. "Nighty-night, Doc."

He hears another low chuckle, then Tim falls silent and Ray feels his breathing evening out. It makes Ray feel oddly accomplished, and he smiles when he drifts off himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, my dear readers! I hope you enjoyed the love that is this chapter ;D Thank you to all of you who're still sticking with me through this monster of a fic!
> 
> If you feel like sharing the love with me on this day, I'd love to hear from you, even if it's just a tiny wee word ^_^ Comments are love and make me all fuzzy happy!


	38. Walt POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that I'm down to posting only two chapters per week, but work is keeping me extremely busy and I have a lot to catch up on and a lot of projects that I'm lagging behind because of my computer issues of the past two weeks... I hope you can forgive me T_T 
> 
> I even have a wee bribe: You'll get a Poke POV chapter next!

  


"It's 0130 hours." Brad says where he's sitting on a crate on the berm next to Walt, who's behind the Mark-19 that looks out over the airfield and the territory beyond. They're both watching their assigned sector, Walt with his NVGs and Brad through the night sight on his M-4. "Walt, go wake Ray and Doc for their shift and send them out to me, then you go get some sleep." 

"Okay, Brad." Walt agrees and gets up off the crate because he's _so_ ready to get a few hours of shuteye. He stretches his back because it feels stiff after sitting for too long on something that has the height of a kid's chair. Walt's not exactly the tallest guy in the platoon, so if _he_ is getting a back ache, he's wondering how Brad's feeling right now. Once Walt feels like his spine has realigned, he makes his way down the berm and past the other victors of their platoon until he gets to their Humvee. 

When he ducks under the cammie net, Walt first steps over Reporter's misshapen grave that no Marine worth his salt would leave that way for three consecutive nights. Reporter obviously isn't a Marine, which is why nobody was too insistent that he corrects it until he gets it right, but well, there's a reason why the guys keep ribbing him about his subpar digging skills. Reporter is still out and doesn't react to Walt moving around at all. Guess he needs his sleep even more than the rest of them do - after all they're trained to deal with lack of sleep, and Reporter most likely isn't. 

Walt moves on past his own, of course _unused_ grave to Brad's larger one, and he can't say that he's surprised when he spots two figures inside it. It has become kind of a familiar sight by now, to see Ray and Doc in a close combat cuddle squeezed into one grave, both snug as a bug under the double protection of two sleeping bags. Walt's eyes are well adjusted to the very dim light, so he can distinguish the different shapes in the grave reasonably easily, and he realises immediately that something is different about their current arrangement - because Doc's not pressed to Ray's back like he usually is, instead he's curled up to Ray's side, halfway draped across him. Ray's arms are wrapped around him, Walt can see that even through the two sleeping bags, and Walt notices that Ray has buried his face against the top of Doc's head so that most of it is hidden behind Doc's camo bandana.

Walt can't help it, he keeps standing over the grave and stares at them. Because this... This is _not_ combat cuddling. This is what Walt and his girlfriend look like when they're sleeping in the same bed. If anybody had told Walt that he'd see the same thing happening with Ray and _Doc_ , Walt never would have believed it, but he especially wouldn't have pictured _Doc_ in the position that is generally taken by Walt's girlfriend in their sleep cuddling. Ray, sure, okay, but Doc? Ray is bi, after all, so it's probably not too shocking that he's not exactly uncomfortable sleeping like this with a guy. He probably wouldn't be even if he was straight as an arrow, because well, it's _Ray_ , he's not easily offended or shocked by anything. And Ray's a physical guy, always has been as long as Walt has known him, he's not exactly shy to touch or be touched in return even in a purely platonic way.

Walt wouldn't have expected _Doc_ to be comfortable cuddling up to another guy like this, though, given how Doc makes it a point to always keep a certain distance to the men that is not necessarily physical but emotional. It's something that pretty much all the corpsmen that Walt has met do, and in line with that the combat cuddling Doc and Ray engaged in before was just huddling, sharing body heat and wanting to sleep more comfortably - but _this_ is not. Of course Walt could be completely wrong, but to him Doc's body language and the way his face is tucked against Ray's neck speak of a closeness that he's sure Doc usually _never_ allows with the men he serves with. It seems to Walt like he's not just seeking warmth, he's seeking comfort, and _that's_ what throws Walt, because Doc sure never did that before. He's just not that kind of guy, he doesn't lean on others, he doesn't show that he might have a soft side.

Hmm, maybe that only shows how little Walt actually knows Doc, because he has the clear proof right in front of him that Doc does obviously _not_ have issues with cuddling up to another guy for more than just physical warmth. To Walt it feels like this means that something is changing between Ray and Doc, although he can't put his finger on what exactly that change entails. It's a hunch, a feeling more than knowledge based on facts, but he's nevertheless sure of it. 

And it makes him _very very_ curious. He really wants to know it he's seeing things, if he's imagining things, or if there really _is_ something developing here. Ray and Doc... wow, he didn't expect that. But now that he's thinking about it, it makes a strange kind of sense. All their bickering is a lot like pulling pigtails, after all. Teasing is a sign of affection and all that, right? Well, they're sure good at teasing each other, if you want to call it that. Both of them. Walt will keep an eye on them and see whether he can find any proof for his hunch.

Walt shakes himself out of his wandering thoughts and reminds himself why he's here, because poor Brad is still out on the berm and expecting his replacements to arrive so that he can get some sleep, and Walt is making him wait. Now that is not a nice thing to do, so Walt leans down, shakes Doc's shoulder and tells them to wake up. As always they snap awake instantly, and Walt relays Brad's order that they're to get out to the berm and relieve him of watch duty. As soon as he's done that, Walt makes it a point to turn his back to them and putter around the Humvee to give them some privacy. He hears them get up and only a minute later they leave for the berm when Walt is already stealing one of their preheated sleeping bags to drag over in his sadly very cold grave. He'd love to take theirs again, but it's Brad's grave, and Brad won't fit in Walt's without folding in half, so that would be very inconsiderate and egoistic of Walt. So Walt curls up in the warm sleeping bag, and he's out within minutes despite how cold his grave is. 

The next morning is busy because they've finally gotten the warning orders and they'll move out again. Walt is busy filling his ranger grave when Ray approaches with their refilled water can because today it was his turn to hike over to the supply trucks and get their ration of water. As soon as he has stowed their water, he joins Walt and begins to fill in one of the graves, only to interrupt his work to warn Brad, who's sitting with his feet in Reporter's grave while brushing his teeth, of the approach of the chaplain. Brad shows little enthusiasm for the unannounced visit, and Walt can tell from the quirk to Ray's mouth that he's up to something.

Walt only barely manages to suppress his smirk when Ray very politely but also very sarcastically declines the chaplain's offer to join his service. Walt sees that Doc and Brad both don't bother to hide their smirks, though, clearly they find Ray's words highly amusing. When the chaplain decides that there's nothing to be gained here, he moves on, and Brad and Ray share a pleased grin. As soon as the man is out of earshot, Doc grumbles while he's helping Brad roll up the cammie net about the fact that they have to drag _that_ guy along. Within minutes Doc and Brad are engaged in a joint rant about the uselessness of religion and of taking a chaplain along into war, a freaking officer POG who doesn't even carry a weapon and refuses to fight.

They're only interrupted when Poke, Leon and Reporter walk up to them carrying a box of humrats, and Walt can only assume that otherwise those two wouldn't have stopped ranting anytime soon. Instead his attention is caught by what Poke is talking about, which is quite a different kind of topic. 

"No, seriously, dawg, have you ever analysed a wet dream? I mean, the mind is so powerful, it can give you a dream so real that it makes your dick come." Poke pauses for effect and looks from Leon to Reporter and then around the rest of their group when they come to a halt next to the Humvee. "Why can't you harness that power when you're awake? Why can't you meditate yourself into thinking you're fucking a chick so hot that you actually orgasm?"

That obviously catches Ray's attention, and Walt sees Ray's gaze flickering to Doc where he's just finishing with strapping in the cammie net, then Ray's eyes return to Poke. "Wait, are you talking about, like, jerking off without using any hands?"

"No, dawg, I'm talking about fucking any girl you want, all in your mind." Poke explains patiently, obviously very invested in getting his idea across. "But it's so real that you can actually feel it and that makes you come without you even touching your dick - like it can happen during a wet dream."

Before Walt can ask Poke about more details on his theory, Brad comes over to him with two humrats and hands them to Walt. "Walt, we're having a little humrat feast. Make sure Garza and Lilley get their share."

"Sure." Walt replies when he accepts the packs and then he makes his way over to One Bravo's Humvee where Gabe and Lilley are currently gearing up. They thank him when he gives them the yellow bags, then Walt returns to the group, interested in how that discussion is progressing. It's definitely an interesting topic, and he's glad that they haven't moved on too far in the minute or two he was gone because he's curious.

"How do you jerk off with no hands?" Leon wonders out loud just when Walt is getting back into their misshapen circle. 

"Yeah, you need one hand at least to hold the cock book." Ray agrees with a doubtful look. 

"Dawg, I'm talking about the power of the _mind_." Poke makes sure to emphasise the word and he gestures at his temple to underline his point. "You don't need a cock book. You don't need shit."

"Gotta have a cock book." Leon murmurs doubtfully when he pries open his humrat bag and digs around inside it.

"Actually, Poke's right, you don't." Doc offers when he steps up to the group and takes one of the humrats Brad is handing out. "After all, the brain really _is_ the most powerful sex organ, and the concept of getting off by using the power of the mind isn't exactly new. Masters and Johnson already did research on the topic in the early 1970ies, and they found a strong connection between orgasm and imagination, although you might be disheartened to hear that the connection is a lot stronger in women than in men." 

"See?" Poke gestures at Doc who just supported his theory with scientific evidence. "You just need to meditate on the perfect fuck."

Doc inclines his head in something that is half agreement, half reservation, then he sits down on one of their ammo crates across from Ray. "There are in fact scientifically proven cases of women who can climax just by thinking about it. Researchers at Rutgers University actually recorded their brain activity in an MRI while they were doing it, and the exact same areas of the brain activated as during an orgasm brought on by physical stimulation. But it was also discovered that it's much more difficult for men to climax just from thought alone without any touch."

"How come you know so much about that?" Ray asks while he's eyeing Doc with interest and curiosity in his gaze. He even seems to have forgotten about the food he deposited out of the bag and on his lap in his attempt to decide what to eat first.

"I wrote a paper on that topic once." Doc replies with a casual shrug and opens one of the MREs from the humrat. "We had a list of topics to choose from, and I thought it sounded rather interesting and since none of my classmates dared to go for it, I did."

Ray grins and wiggles his eyebrows rather suggestively. "I'm sure you learned a lot."

"It was quite enlightening." Doc replies with a challengingly cocked eyebrow. "If you want to learn some facts about the female orgasm, that's where you get a valuable crash course that any lady will highly appreciate."

Poke is looking at Doc with interest now. "Dawg, when we're back statesides, can you give me those sources you read?"

"Sure. I still have the paper in one of my folders, and there's a bibliography at the end that contains all the source material I used." Doc offers easily.

"That stuff is not exactly jerk-off material, is it?" Ray wonders out loud, a doubtful expression on his face.

"Not exactly, no." Doc snorts, then he throws Ray a challenging look. "Except if you get off on pages upon pages of scientific research."

Ray gives him a huge grin and shrugs. "Well, I guess that depends on the research."

That reminds Walt that Ray's not the only one who might do that. "You know Wasik'll jerk off to anything. I seen him punishing his unit during a screening of Pocahontas at Matilda." 

"That's tragic." Brad declares while he's preparing an MRE. "I liked Pocahontas. Wonderful music."

That's enough to set Poke off on another topic, one of his favourites - the misdeeds of the White Man. Not that he's wrong about most of the stuff he's saying. 

Walt only listens with half an ear because he's more interested in the fact that Ray is watching Doc, although he'd doing it incredibly covertly - which is what makes it all the more interesting. Walt is still sad that he didn't get to see that fight between them at Rudy's improvised fight club yesterday because he was one of the few unlucky souls to draw the short stick - literally - and he ended up on watch duty at the time. But he heard about it, and not just from one or two eyewitnesses, but at least half a dozen different accounts that all agree on one thing - that it was fucking incredible how in sync they were in the ring. And that Doc only won against Ray by a tiny margin in the mixed martial arts round, while Ray defeated him with a perfectly executed spine crank in ground fighting. Oh, and both fights were absolute fun to watch. There were bets, and Manimal is now three packs of jalapeño and cheese richer because he bet that Ray would win in ground fighting. Walt knows he probably only did that because Ray has defeated _him_ so many times in that discipline. 

Ray keeps a careful but well-hidden eye on Doc throughout their meal and later when they're gearing up in preparation to move out. Seems like Walt's indeed not imagining things - at least not on Ray's end. Walt's not blind, after all. He noticed that Ray went out of his way trying not to annoy Doc after that thing with the shepherd boys, and that's not something Ray does for no reason. That's, like, Ray-speech for 'I care'. Walt will have to keep a close eye on Doc and see how he's thinking about this thing and to find out if Ray's suffering from a one-sided, unrequited crush on their grumpy corpsman. Now, that would be sad. Poor Ray. Means Walt would have to cheer him up.

When they're finally oscar mike, the trip isn't especially long. In fact, they're basically just moving from the airfield to RCT-1's headquarters a few miles west, at the intersection of Highways 7 and 17. Their earlier info that they're to to do road blocks and ambushes along route 7 has already been scrapped, not that anybody is surprised about that. You get used to it.

It's strange to be around so many people, Walt thinks when they arrive at the regimental command post where thousands of Marines are stationed right now with their equipment, everything from amtracks to tanks to Cobras, interspersed with antenna fields and hundreds of tents. They drive through the encampment to their assigned area, which is pretty much in the middle of the whole thing, and they stop the vehicles in regular intervals between two berms. Soon afterwards the LT comes by and informs them that they're not required to set up watch tonight, and that due to the protection of the camp Godfather decided that ranger graves aren't necessary tonight. He tells them to make use of the opportunity to get a good night's sleep because they'll move out in the morning, and they're going to be pushing north through the countryside adjacent to route 7 to do a movement to contact. It's a fancy way of saying that they'll continue the earlier 'strategy' of driving into ambushes and drawing fire, and everybody knows it. It's one more reason to make sure they get to sleep tonight.

The rest of the day is passed with their usual routines of cleaning and maintaining their weapons while Doc is off to make his rounds among the men to treat whatever needs to be taken care of before they move out again. Walt decides that he's going to call it a night when all his duties are done and the sun has set a while ago. Brad and Doc are gone somewhere doing Brad-stuff and Doc-stuff, and Ray disappeared a while ago with a roll of TP and their shitter, so Walt and Reporter are the only occupants of One Alpha's Humvee around when Walt begins to pack up the gear he used. 

"So there's really no digging tonight?" Reporter asks with a ridiculous amount of tentative hope in his voice. "Seriously?"

Walt just smirks. "Yeah, no digging. We're in the middle of the regimental command post, so Godfather declared that we're safe enough and don't need to excavate ranger graves."

"Huh." Reporter sounds a little nonplussed. "Feels a bit like the world is ending."

Walt snorts. There's some truth to that comment, though. They're been digging graves - sometimes more than once per night - since they left Matilda, so it really does feel strange.

Reporter spreads out his sleeping bag next to Walt's, and he's clearly as eager to make use of the opportunity to sleep as they all are. Despite it being just past 2100 hours Walt can see quite a few of the other men doing the same thing as they are, settling down on the ground next to their Humvees in their sleeping bags to grab as many hours of sleep as they can before the next leg of the invasion. 

Reporter has just tucked himself deep into his sleeping bag and Walt has just begun to zip his when Ray shows up and heads to the Humvee to get his own sleeping bag. "Hey fellas, mind if I join your sleepover?"

"Knock yourself out, Ray." Walt replies easily while he's making sure that his watch cap is pulled as low as possible and his sleeping bag is zipped completely. It really is getting fucking freezing at night, and not everybody is as lucky as Ray to have a designated grave mate. Well, except for Rudy, of course, who absolutely _always_ has Pappy. Or maybe it's Pappy who has Rudy to cuddle up to, Walt's not sure.

"You're too kind, Walter." Ray chirps in a little kid's voice when he comes back and spreads out his sleeping bag in the empty spot next to Reporter. "But where's the campfire and the hot chocolate and the marshmallows?"

"Sorry, we ran out a while ago." Walt props himself up on his elbow so that he can better look at Ray over Reporter's form between them, then he tugs up the back of his sleeping bag so that no cold air can invade his nice, slowly warming up cocoon.

"Let me guess: Reporter ate them all." Ray quips and makes sure to sound like a petulant little kid.

"I did not!" Reporter protests immediately, and Walt can't suppress the snort at how he's defending himself against an accusation that is so clearly made up.

Ray crawls into his sleeping bag and all the while gives Reporter the stink eye. "Yeah yeah, you know what they say: Those who shout the loudest usually have the most to hide. You're probably keeping an entire candy shop hidden away in those two large bags of yours."

Walt snorts rather loudly at that accusation because it's got to be one of the most ridiculous things Ray has said so far. 

Reporter first throws Walt a look, then he turns back to Ray. "Actually, I transferred it all to Walt's rucksack when he wasn't looking." 

"Hey!" Walt protests, but he gets ignored.

"Sneaky." Ray nods in something that seems to be recognition as well as surprised approval. "Respect, Reporter."

"Yeah, don't underestimate our War Scribe." Doc's voice remarks drily from behind Walt, then he steps into Walt's field of vision with his own sleeping bag in hand. He opens it entirely and shakes it out on top of Ray, and Walt watches in utter fascination how Ray unzips his sleeping bag without even seeming to think about it, and then Doc slips in behind him and pulls his own sleeping bag around them both. It's almost as if they have some kind of silent agreement, because they don't exchange a word or even a look to communicate what they're doing. It's kind of fascinating.

"Well, who knows what _you_ 've got in that medical bag of yours, Doc." Ray remarks in a rather provocative tone while he's wriggling back against Doc with a confidence and a natural ease that Walt finds rather impressive, especially considering that he's simultaneously insulting Doc. "For all I know you've got an entire Starbucks in there that you've been hiding from us because you share everything but _not_ your holy coffee."

"Maybe I just don't share it with _you_." Doc shoots back easily and without even a moment of hesitation. "Especially in view of the fact that you are _still_ milking that stove malfunction to con Rudy into providing you with coffee."

"I was the victim of a most evil attack by a satanic espresso maker!" Ray exclaims in very convincing outrage, but he keeps lying in front of Doc without trying to move away.

"You were at the wrong time in the wrong place. I doubt that Rudy's stove _picked_ you for a specific reason." Doc points out drily, and Walt watches how he pulls his neck gaiter up before he shifts off his propped up elbow to lie down as well. "I'm sure if it was as satanic as you claim, it would have done the job right and I wouldn't have had anything to do anymore but collect your dog tags."

"If you continue to be that mean, you can go sleep on the couch!" Ray threatens, and Walt can't quite suppress a snort. Wow, they even keep bickering while tucked in the same sleeping bag. Definitely pulling pigtails, then.

"I sure can, but you'll be the one freezing." Doc replies casually.

"I hate you." Ray pouts - genuinely _pouts_ \- and Walt grins while he's following their ridiculous exchange. He can see that even Reporter is smirking from where he's lying between Walt and the Ray-Doc situation. 

"No, you don't." Doc retorts and Walt can tell from the movements under the sleeping bag that he's wrapping his arm around Ray's waist.

"Yes, I totally do." Ray grumbles back, but at the same time he shifts back against Doc a little further, which Walt is sure renders his words rather unbelievable. 

"Ray, sleep." Doc orders quietly from behind Ray. Even in the semi-darkness and from his spot on the other side of Reporter Walt is able to see that Doc has closed his eyes and is burying his nose against Ray's neck, but what sticks out most to Walt is that he used Ray's name - because Walt is sure he never heard Doc call him 'Ray' before. Not once. Huh.

"Yeah, yeah." Ray mutters, but Walt has the impression that he has really calmed down considerably since Doc cuddled up against him. "Nighty-night, Doc. And Walt and Reporter. Don't want you to feel left out."

"That's very nice of you, Ray." Reporter replies, his voice barely audible through the scarf he has pulled up over his nose. "Good night."

"Yeah." Walt joins in and then lies down as well, careful to make sure that his warm cocoon doesn't get disturbed by the movement. "Night."

Walt keeps lying awake for a while, and he can hear from the faint sounds of breathing next to him that Reporter, Ray and Doc all have nodded off. Walt stares up into the stars that are so clearly visible with no excessive light pollution in the night sky. He wonders what to make of that strange relationship that's developing between Ray and Doc. Because no matter how harsh the words may have seemed, their bickering just now was more banter with an undercurrent of gentle amusement. It feels very different from how they interacted when they first stepped off from Matilda, or even in their first week in the field when Doc wouldn't have been caught dead calling Ray by his first name. And Walt knows Ray well enough to be reasonably sure that he's interested in Doc, and not just as a teammate or even a friend, because this is not how Ray treats a friend. He never behaved like that with Walt or Brad or any other of the men, or with his friends at home who Walt met when he visited Ray last year. 

So, this is different. The question is if it's mutual, and Walt can't really tell because he doesn't know Doc well enough for that. He doesn't really know him at all, if Walt's being honest here, so he's basically flying blind. But if it's indeed mutual - and that's a big 'if', after all chances are high that Doc is straight - but _if_ it's mutual, then there's the issue of DADT to think about on top of the usual drama about getting together, made worse by their current situation including the persistent lack of privacy and the fact that they're currently invading a hostile country... Daaamn, this is like a soap opera. Like their very own, action-packed, in country, Recon Marine soap opera, broadcast in real time. 

Walt is sure it's going to be very entertaining. Maybe he even gets to play a role in it - either as the matchmaker or the agony aunt. He hopes for Ray's sake that it's not the latter.


	39. Poke POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, here comes Poke, because I just couldn't resist his awesomeness! XD I hope you enjoy his way of looking at things ;D A few more chapters and you'll get Rudy, too ^_^

  


Poke walks back from the improvised latrines - if you want to call it that, it's more just a spot in the field where they all go to do their business - and he trails along the berm they're stationed next to, past the Humvees of Bravo Three towards Bravo Two and his own victor. It's just past 2200 hours, but most of the men have long since turned in and he can make out the shapes of Marines curled up on the ground next to their vehicles. Since they're positioned smack in the middle of RCT-1's headquarters, surrounded by thousands of Marines and hundreds of tanks, amtracs, trucks, Humvees, Cobras and Hueys, they're not required to set up their own watch, and pretty much everybody is making use of the opportunity to get a full night's sleep. 

Poke himself got up just because he had to take a piss, and now he plans on joining all the other guys in dreamland again, because he sure won't waste this opportunity. He's well aware that there will be little to no sleep once they're oscar mike in the morning, and he's just glad that his boys can get some real, decent sleep for one night before the strains come down on them again. 

When Poke walks past Bravo Two-Two he spots the large silhouette of Manimal stretched out beside the Humvee, about a foot beside him to the right lies what looks like Chaffin bunched up in a sleeping bag like a white boy burrito, followed by Budweiser in a similar state, and to Manimal's left Poke easily recognises the shapes of Rudy and Pappy, as always huddled so close together that they're indistinguishable as individual human beings. They're by far not the only guys who combat cuddle, because it gets freaking cold here at night, but they sure are the most devoted. Nobody is exactly surprised by that, sniper teams are famous for how close they are in any way, and physical closeness comes with the territory since it's required for the job. And Rudy and Pappy sure are a picture-prefect example of that mystical sniper team connection that leaves the normal guys in awe. Poke can't remember _ever_ having seen them sleep alone out in the field except for when one of them has watch duty. It's such a normal and familiar sight that nobody bats an eyelid at it. It's actually more jarring to see one of them sleeping alone. 

Poke finds it a very poignant example of the inconsistent and even contradictory standards of any modern military branch, but especially in highly trained elite forces such as Recon Marines. On one hand they're oh so focussed on their hyper-masculine, macho badass image and shun everything homosexual to the point that their leaders even introduced a fucking discriminatory policy like DADT - when already the Sacred Band of Thebes proved that DADT is based on utter bullshit and brainless fear instead of facts - and on the other hand they're _so very homoerotic_ and they even know it, but it seems that as long as nobody says it out loud and actually means it, it's all good. Not to mention that Poke knows that if anybody outside their unit ever said something derogatory to or about Rudy and Pappy, the entire platoon would come down on that person _hard_. Yeah, nobody said that it makes sense. 

When Poke passes by One Alpha's Humvee, his gaze only perfunctorily scans over the shapes on the ground, which is enough to tell him that Brad's not among them. Instead of wandering on, though, Poke's gaze slips back over Hasser hidden in his sleeping bag and Reporter curled up into a ball next to him towards the rather large lump beside them. What the... Is that...?

Poke stops walking to be able to take a closer look, and yes, he's not imagining this. That's definitely Doc's bandana he can make out, and the head it's wrapped around is buried against the back of the neck of one Ray Person. Even through the sleeping bag they've spread out on top of them Poke can tell that Doc is curled around Ray, pressed against his back and one arm wrapped around him, and both men are clearly fast asleep. 

The only reason why they even catch his eye is because this is the first night since they stepped off from Matilda that the men weren't required to dig ranger graves and everybody is just lying on the ground, easily visible from the wide path they keep clear between the victors. Poke has to look twice to really convince himself that he's not imagining that it's _Doc Bryan and Ray_ he thinks he's recognising. But no, it's them all right. No way to mistake Doc's bandana or Ray's slim build. And they're forming a perfect white boy sandwich.

Huh. Poke really thought those rumours about Brad making Doc and Ray huddle as a bonding exercise were complete nonsense, which is why he never even bothered to ask Brad about it. Seriously, it's so outlandish that Poke didn't even give it a second thought - maybe he should have. Because this sure doesn't look like it's the first time they're doing that, and after all _this_ is the proof that there most certainly is a kernel of truth to _that_ rumour. Question is what that kernel is.

When Poke spots Brad's tall silhouette coming up the back of the berm behind their victors, he decides that he's too curious now to _not_ ask Brad about it. It's the perfect time, too, with all of their kids asleep so that they can have some grown-up talk. Poke crosses the stretch of hard-pressed dirt until he reaches the berm and then climbs up to join Brad, who's looking out over the encampment, his M-4 held by his side. 

"Is that what I think it is?" Poke gestures with his hand in the general direction of One Alpha's Humvee behind them.

Brad turns to look at Poke and raises an eyebrow. "You'll have to be a bit more specific than that, Poke."

"I'm talking about that white boy sandwich in your front yard."

"Oh, that." Brad says casually and nods slowly. He clearly knows _exactly_ what Poke is talking about.

"My mind did not just make that up in the haze of sleep-deprivation, then?" Poke asks Brad with a hint of disbelief in his voice because he's simply unable to keep it out. "Is that for real?"

"Oh yes, it's for real." Brad replies and he sounds like he's undecided between puzzled and long-suffering.

" _Doc_ and _Ray_ combat cuddling? But they're constantly trying to kill each other!" Poke remarks with a frown.

Now Brad's voice is _definitely_ and _only_ long-suffering. "Don't I know it."

Poke throws Brad a quizzical look. "Are you ordering them-"

Brad interrupts him with a blatantly annoyed groan before Poke can even get halfway through his question. "No, I'm not. Why the fuck does everybody believe that shit?"

Poke snorts. "Well, for one thing, you're the Iceman and we all think you're capable of not just doing that, but of actually asserting yourself against those two."

Brad cocks an eyebrow. "I'm not sure whether I should be flattered or offended."

Poke just grins and continues. "And then, we're talking about _Doc_ and _Ray_ here. Both of them definitely require boxing gloves instead of kid gloves if you want to get something across. We've all heard them bicker by now, after all. I can only imagine that it's much much worse in the Humvee after hours of being jammed in there with Ray high on Ripped Fuel and Doc losing his patience." 

"Yeah, it sure is." Brad replies with another long-suffering sigh, and Poke wonders how many hours of violent bitching Brad has already lived through. Maybe Poke should ask Reporter about that. He probably even has precise notes on all that's been going on.

Poke smirks. "What I'm saying here is that we all would understand if you decided to take drastic measures."

"Like ordering them to combat cuddle?" Brad throws Poke a gaze heavy with scepticism. "Seriously? What do you guys think of me? That I solve issues in my team with applied cuddle therapy?"

Poke can't suppress the snort of laughter at that idea. "I would pay to see that. _'Colbert's Cuddle Corner. Come to Humvee Two-One Alpha and cuddle away your problems.'_ "

Even Brad is smirking by now, he clearly sees the absurdity and the humour of the whole thing just as well as Poke does.

Poke gestures in the direction of the Humvee and grins. "Well, they sure look peaceful now. Like two cuddly teddy bears. Your concept seems to be working."

"Sadly that peacefulness doesn't extend into their waking hours." Brad replies drily. "Especially not when Ray's high like a kite."

"Well, you can't really hold _that_ against Doc, now, can you?" Poke remarks with a pointed look. "Ray can be... taxing when he's on a roll. I'm sure I wouldn't fare nearly as well as Doc did so far. I probably would have throttled Ray mid-driving."

Brad smirks. "Yeah, I'm sure you would have. And killed the entire team in the process when he consequently crashes the Humvee."

"Most likely, yeah." Poke agrees with a chuckle and inclines his head in concession. "But honestly, I thought they were pretty civil to each other while we were at the airfield. You know, by their standards."

"Yeah, well, they could get out of each other's hair since we weren't crammed into the Humvee all day. And all night." Brad shrugs. "And on top of that Ray took next to no Ripped Fuel compared to his usual levels of consumption. He was producing much less bullshit than he does on a regular day of our extended road trip through beautiful Iraq."

"Okay, I agree that might have played a role." Poke concedes and then makes a vague gesture at Brad's victor behind them. "So, how long has that been going on?" 

Brad is quiet for a moment before he says in a low voice, "A while."

"Yeah, I could tell this is not their first time combat cuddling. They look _way_ too comfortable. Like they're trying to compete with Rudy and Pappy." Poke smirks and then just shrugs. "Well, if it works..."

Brad purses his lips as if he's thinking about it, then he inclines his head. "Strangely enough, it seems to be working. They're still not really any closer to getting along, but at least they're both better rested and that means that Ray's taking less Ripped Fuel and Doc manages to withstand his bullshit for slightly longer before he begins threatening to duct tape Ray's mouth shut. I'll take that as a win."

"Close enough to one." Poke agrees with a slow nod before he throws Brad an openly gleeful grin. "Especially for those poor souls stuck in a Humvee with them all day and all night."

Brad just gives him an ironic look. "I thank you profoundly for your heartfelt commiseration, Poke."

"You're welcome, Brad." Poke replies without hiding his grin, then he points at his own Humvee at the foot of the berm. "I'm going to follow my boys' example and hit the hay now, too. Got to make use of the opportunity."

Brad takes a deep breath, then he nods in agreement. "Yeah, I should get some sleep, too. Who knows when we'll get to do it again for more than an hour at a time."

"My educated guess is: Not anytime soon." Poke remarks drily while he and Brad make their way down the side of the berm.

"That's probably a very good guess." Brad says when they're at the foot of the berm at One Alpha's victor and Poke needs to continue for some twenty-odd metres to get to his own Humvee. "Night, Poke." 

"You too, Brad." Poke replies with a wave and continues walking, although at a slow pace. "We better make use of it as long as we still can."

"Wise words." Brad agrees and then they fall silent because the distance grows too large to talk quietly, and they both don't want to speak at a volume that would disturb their boys. They're both too well aware how precious those few hours of sleep are - too precious to be disturbed for no good reason. 

Poke throws one last glance at the sleeping forms of Doc Bryan and Ray on his way back to his own victor. Usually corpsmen don't get close to the men they're serving with. Or to put it better: They don't _let_ the men they serve with come that close, and Poke's not talking about the occasional huddle when it's fucking freezing. He's also well aware of why that is, and he's sure that having a friend die under your hands is much much worse than when it's a colleague you're not _that_ close to. Most corpsmen Poke has encountered are like that, even if they're not all as gruff as Doc Bryan - that's just his character, that's not a corpsman thing. Take Doc Weatherby from Third Platoon, for example. He's one of the chattiest, most cheerful and good-natured people Poke has ever met - but he _also_ keeps a certain distance to the men, although everybody likes him and they would welcome him closer into their circle if he wanted it. 

Poke has known Doc Bryan for a while now, even if they never served on a tour together before, and he wonders why Doc lets one of the men close to him _now_ \- because that's what this thing looks like to Poke. Sure, Poke knows that Doc's close friends with Kocher and also maintains a friendship with Rudy and Pappy outside their jobs, but with them he never behaves like he's doing now with Ray. What Poke especially doesn't get is why he's letting close _Ray_ of all people - the only one of the men that Doc's in constant conflict with. Sure, he doesn't much like Encino Man or Casey Kasem, everybody knows that - not just thanks to that epic moment when he told Encino Man to his face that he's incompetent, and _damn_ , Poke would have paid to witness _that_ \- and Doc occasionally snarks at most of the guys, but it's nothing like the infamous bickering battles he's having with Ray. Poke has witnessed a few of those, and they're at a completely different level. If that's what Brad is exposed to in the Humvee for hours on end, then Poke feels genuinely sorry for him. Just to a certain degree, though, because Brad _chose_ to have Ray in his victor, and he certainly knew what that entailed. Of course he couldn't have predicted that he'd get Doc Bryan assigned to his Humvee as well, so that's not Brad's fault, which is why Poke is willing to grant him _some_ commiseration.

Oh, and then there's those two fights Doc and Ray engaged in yesterday afternoon in Bravo Two's makeshift fight club. Poke is still awed and simultaneously bewildered by how freaking in sync they were, because they really shouldn't have been. It was almost up to Rudy's and Pappy's levels, and that's just plain out weird. And maybe a bit freaky because Poke can't think of anybody else in the platoon with the same degree of sync except for - obviously - Rudy and Pappy. And Poke is sure he's not the only one who noticed it, because all the men are highly trained fighters and they all are taught to analyse fights in order to spot strengths and weaknesses. And that thing with Doc and Ray really stood out, especially in the context of them usually not getting along. Poke really can't fathom where this is going because he can't exactly see them be friends. Well, Brad is probably happy if it simply leads to an armistice for the rest of this tour.

But right now Poke has more important things to do than pondering the intricacies of the relationship of two of his fellow warriors. Like sleeping, because he's back by his victor and there's his sleeping bag, waiting for him and promising a brief respite from all this shit and maybe even a dream where he gets to spend time with Gina and his little girl. Now _that_ sounds promising - and definitely more interesting than Brad's white boy sandwich issues.


	40. Reporter POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm not exactly back, because I'm still very much swamped in work and I have a deadline this week, but I want to at least keep posting those chapters I have finished so far. I'm so so sorry for disappearing on you like this and leaving you hanging for over two weeks without an update! I hope you can forgive me T_T 
> 
> Enjoy the next few chapters - I promise they're going to be interesting ^_^

  


Evan feels disoriented when he's startled out of his sleep, and when he opens his eyes he's for a moment just awed by the pretty colours in the night sky. It takes a second or two to remember where he is, and then in dawns on him that chemical lights falling out of the sky on parachutes is maybe not a good sign given that they're in a war zone. 

Evan glances at his watch - just past midnight - because he needs to know when stuff happens so that he gets it right in his later accounts. Then he glances around and spots Walt and Colbert on one side of him and on the other side there's Ray and Doc, and they're all still sleeping completely undisturbed by the spectacle going on in the sky. Evan doesn't really want to wake them, but right now his priorities lie elsewhere. If this stuff is dangerous - and it sure looks like it is - he'd not only like to know that, but he also feels like he ought to wake them in that case. Better safe than sorry. They can mock him for being a pussy tomorrow if it's nothing, but if it's _something_ , he wants to make sure they're actually still all alive tomorrow so that they _can_ mock him.

Evan decides to go for Ray first simply because he's closest to him. With a bit of effort Evan frees his arms from his sleeping bag and puts a hand on Ray's shoulder to give it a shake. "Ray!" 

"What the fuck, Reporter?" Ray grumbles without even opening his eyes. "I'm sleeping."

Evan throws another wary look at the descending chemical lights. "Ray, what is that stuff coming down from the sky? Looks rather dangerous."

"What stuff?" Ray asks with a frown before he opens his eyes and turns his head around so that he can look up from where he's resting on his side with Doc still pressed up against his back. Evan watches him relax when he catches sight of the lights and Ray returns to his former position.

"Oh, that. It's illume." Ray explains with his eyes already closed again, and he's visibly cuddling back against Doc Bryan who shows no signs of being awake, but Evan is sure that he is. 

"It's ours, Reporter." Doc's low voice grumbles from behind Ray as if to confirm Evan's assumption. "Go back to sleep."

"Why are we lighting up our own position?" Evan wonders out loud, but he doesn't get an answer. He turns away from the sight of the descending lights to look at Ray and Doc, but they both seem to be asleep again. Evan can't understand how they can sleep through this as if they don't have a care in the world. Well, they've probably seen it happen before, and if they're not roused by this at all, it can't be _that_ bad. Colbert and Walt haven't really reacted either, so maybe Evan should just follow their lead on this.

Evan forces himself to lie back down and try to go to sleep as well. He knows that from tomorrow on things will turn exhausting again quickly, and he shouldn't waste this precious opportunity to sleep. It takes him a moment, but he knows he fell asleep again when he jolts upright what feels only like minutes later because of the loud and uncomfortably close shrieking of artillery passing overhead, followed only a second later by a massive impact that is so close to them that he feels it shake the ground beneath them. Evan can see the entire field awash in waves of orange and blue fire, and it's coming all the way up to the palm trees by the berm, which makes him sick in the stomach. 

On pure instinct Evan rolls under the Humvee, still wrapped in his sleeping bag, which makes him feel like he's a ponderous larva crawling over the ground to avoid a boot squishing him to death. He collides with Ray and Doc, who're also moving underneath the Humvee, and out of the corner of his eye he spots Walt and Colbert doing the same. 

"Shit!" Evan shouts and suddenly he really wishes they had taken the time to dig ranger graves after all - especially when there are more explosions following the first, and they show no signs of stopping.

"Don’t worry about that." Ray remarks calmly from beside him, and all Evan can think is _'Don't worry? Seriously?'_ How is he supposed _not_ to worry about getting blown up by artillery?

"That’s our artillery." Ray adds after a few seconds of watching the firestorm that's going down just a hundred metres away. He's lying on his stomach now with Doc Bryan next to him, both of them looking out from under the cover the Humvee provides.

"It’s just danger-close." Colbert offers from Evan's other side, as if that explanation makes Evan feel any safer. It doesn't matter who fired that damn artillery, it can kill them just as easily when fired from an Iraqi or an American position. Wouldn't be the first case of death by friendly fire in this war, after all. Evan just never expected to become a part of that sad statistic.

Evan notices how the four men in his team shift around beside him, rearranging their positions so that they're all covered by the Humvee, then they settle down again. Walt and Colbert roll onto their backs, pull up their sleeping bags and then casually close their eyes again. On his other side Evan sees how Ray scoots closer to Doc and rearranges himself so that he's lying halfway on his side and halfway on his stomach because the clearance of the Humvee is not quite high enough to lie comfortably on his side. Doc pushes his arm underneath Ray's head who contently uses it as a pillow, and then Doc reaches for the sleeping bag that they lost it in the sudden retreat under the truck and does his best to drag it over them with just one hand. When he's satisfied he shifts until he's covering Ray's back and his arm comes down around Ray's waist, then he rests his face against Ray's neck and closes his eyes, clearly ready to go back to sleep as well. 

Evan just looks from Walt and Colbert to Ray and Doc. They leave Evan completely baffled by their relaxed behaviour. How can they even _consider_ sleeping when their surroundings are not only _under_ fire but also _on_ fire? Are they not at least _a little_ concerned by the current situation?

"Seriously, don't worry, Reporter." Walt says from where he's lying on Colbert's other side, and he raises his head and gives Evan a smile that is clearly supposed to be reassuring. While Evan appreciates the gesture, he can't quite manage _not_ to worry about the apocalypse taking place in their immediately vicinity. 

It's clear that the other men are planning on sleeping through the remainder of the night, though, so Evan forces himself to lie down as well. He can't make himself give up the false security of being able to see, so he remains lying on his stomach instead of shifting onto his back. He keeps watching the explosions and the flames long after Colbert, Walt, Ray and Doc Bryan have gone back to sleep, but he must have drifted off at some point as well, because he wakes to sunshine and the sounds of the camp activity all around him. The spots next to him under the Humvee are empty, clearly the others have already gotten up and left him to sleep a while longer.

During the team leader briefing Evan learns that his fear last night was actually not as unfounded as the others made him believe - and as they believed themselves. 

"Gentlemen, we're lucky to be alive. That racket last night was an enemy artillery strike from a BM-21 multiple-launch rocket system." Fick opens the briefing with a grimly amused smile. "That system kills everything in an entire grid square. They knew our coordinates and came within a few hundred meters of us. We got lucky - again."

Evan is so damn glad he didn't know that yet last night, or he sure wouldn't have slept even one more minute.


End file.
